[pshrynk]

Harv skidded to a halt in front of Rick's Cafe Americain Panama City. He hesitated.

"Well, just one," he lied to himself and went in.

"Hello, Rick!" he cried once the dim lighting became accustomed to his eyes.

"Get out! I don't want your kind in here!"

If everyone listened to Rick, there would have been no customers at all in the popular franchise. Harv ignored the guy wearing a tuxedo five degrees north of the equator.

"Sasha! Zany Carter Deluxe!"

"Sure thing, meester Harv!"

Harv sat at the bar and ignored the tinkly piano playing. He had to find Vera! But how? He could pilot anything with wings. Well, anything with wings and a motor. To be honest, anything with wings and a motor that was not a product of Dr Montsnmags' perverted little "experiments" with the local water fowl. But he was no detective. Nor could he sniff her out like a dog.

But wait! He owned a dog. Well, not so much owned as was tolerated by one. But he had an association with a dog. And the dog was likely to be right here in this very bar. He looked around for the familiar grey, shaggy form of his canine companion. Sure enough, there he was, lying in a corner, worrying a bone. Little piles of bacon ends littered the floor around him.

"Vivaldi! Here boy! We got some work to do!"

"Bugger off! I'm writing the Great American Novel!"

"But you're Panamanian!"

"Doesn't matter. Go away!"

"Are you still sore that I lost you in a poker game?"

"Dogs have feelings, too, you know!"