[Greg Anos]

Just another Wednsday morning, shooting FDR and waiting for the phone to ring. Kinda dull after I had located the Tequila Mafia's heroin stash for the Federales. 600 kilos of horse and enough M-16s to armor a regiment, and the Federales wouldn't even pay a parking ticket I got during the stakeout. They said I shouldn't have been listening to "The Mexican Blackbird" while eyeballin' the place. What the H-ll do they expect me to listen to on the south side, Frank Sinatra? Next thing you know, they'll expect me to dress like a Hoover Doll. After that, I told them they could find their own dopers, at least until they paid my parking ticket. And I figger they oughta start in the White House...
About this time, Mrs. Slocum stuck her nose in the doorway, so I patted my lap as an invite. She just sorta sneered and went back into the reception room. Shows how much respect I get for payin' for her food.
"Boss, phone call." Mindy chirps on the intercom.
"About time."
I pick up the phone, "Red speakin'. What can I do you out of?"
"Red, this is Steve Jordan."
"Howdy, Steve. How are things up in the Crooked Congress Casbah?"
"If you mean Washington, D.C., fairly well. I'm calling you to help with a problem that's developed recently."
"That's my job. What's givin' you the chomp?"
A pause at the other end of the line. Maybe I shoulda talked Yankee at him.
"Yesterday, I had a fan ask me to autograph a Steve Jordan t-shirt."
"I thought you didn't go in for sellin' memorabilia."
"I don't. That's the problem. Somebody is selling Steve Jordan memorabilia without my permission."
"Hmm. Where'd your fan get it?"
"At last week's science fiction convention in Philidelpha."
"Well, it's either local to Philly or else they're riding the S/F convention circuit. My guess is the latter. And it's probably not just you. Have you notified the S/F writers Guild?"
"Not yet."
"Better pass this along to warn the other S/F writers about the problem. By the way, where and when is the next S/F convention?"
"Next week in Phoenix."
Maybe I could sneak this one by Mindy. Heh, heh.
"I see if I can catch some leads in Phoenix, then. Do you just want them shut down, or do I have to gather evidence for court. Evidence cost more."
"Do whatever is cheaper. The writing business is pretty marginal."
"Ok. Shut 'em down, it is. Gimme a few week on this. If something bog this down, I'll let you know."
"Thanks, Red."
I hung up the phone, with visions of baseball bats in my head.
The intercom beeped.
"Yes, Mindy."
"You've got another call holding, Boss."
Feast or famine in my business. "Who'se calling?"
"Some lady who says her name is DesertGrandma. She won't say why she called. She'll only talk to you. Are you starting to chase old ladies?"
"At least they don't fry me for looking wrong, unlike some people I know."
"Aw, Boss, I'm just showing you some warmth."
"Well, chill for the moment and let me talk to DG."
"Right, Boss."
So I picked up the phone. "Red here, how can I be of assistance?"
"Mr. Red, something very strange happened to me yesterday, and I have no idea what to do about it. So I called you for advice."
"No need to call me Mister, just Red, ma'am. Just tell me what happened."
"I went out in the back yard and saw a Gila Monster on one of the chaise lounges."
I interrupted. "Just where do you live?"
"Suprise, Arizona."
Whee, today was my lucky day.
"Ok, please continue."
"As I was saying, there was this Gila Monster on my chaise lounge. So I went to the tool shed to get a long hoe to dispose of it with. When I came out, there were these three men wearing black suits and ties and white shirts. One of them was holding the Gila Monster and one of the others had an metal stick, sort of like an overgrown fancy pen. It flashed a bright light at me, and the man holding it told me to forget about the Gila Monster and them as well. The third one told me he would put the hoe away for me, and then took it out of my hand and carried it away with him. Then all three of them left, carrying the Gila Monster and the hoe. One of them seem to be trying to talk to the Gila Monster.
"About this time, I heard my husband, DesertGrandpa, bang the front door. He yell at the men and demanded to know what they were doing in his yard. There was another one of those flashes, mostly blocked by the house. My husband went after them with a baseball bat. I ran into the house and got my gun.
"By the time I made it out the front door, they'd taken the bat away from him and were forcing him into the the car. I yelled at them to stop, but I couldn't get a clear shot. Then one put some sort of gun to my husband's head, and yelled at me to drop my gun. I couldn't risk my husband, so I did. They flash that light at me again, told me to forget them and roared off with my husband in the car. I guess the Gila Monster was already in the car, because I didn't see it any more."
This put a different complextion on the problem. I hadn't dealt with those boys in a decade. They didn't like me, and I didn't like them. They weren't real easy to convince, even with wadcutters.
"Did you call the FBI?" The Federal Bureau of Idiots were riddled with those boys, but I had to ask.
"Yes, and they laughed at me and called me a crackpot. That's when I turned to you."
"Ok. I'll be out there as soon as I can catch a flight. I figger they won't hurt your husband. I think they're holding him to try and figger out why their flash didn't work on him. They aren't known to be real vicious. What number can I catch you at?"
She gave me her cell phone number and I hung up.
"Mindy!"
"Yes, Boss. What's the excitment?"
"I'm on a kidnapping case in Arizona. Get me a flight to Phoenix and a hotel room, chop, chop."
"Somebody kidnap the Ranger's pitching?"
"Now Mindy, this is a real case. DesertGrandma's husband has been kidnapped. Besides, the Rangers never had any pitching worth kidnapping 'cept Nolan, and he retired years ago."
"You just want to see Rangers spring training games, tax deductable."
"And all you want is another trip to Hawaii. Now quit jawing and get me those reservations. I gotta make another call."
"I have the Rangers ticket number, I can call for your tickets for you."
"I'm not callin' for tickets, I'm callin' an old friend for a bit of help."
"Boss, who would you call for help?"
"Information, actually."
In my mind's eye, I could see the blank look on Mindy's. Then the light bulb must've popped on.
"You don't mean - him?"
"Yep, he owns me favors for the redhead I fixed him up with. Now get to callin' Angel."
"I am not an Angel!"
"Get crackin'!"
"Right, Boss."
So I dialed the number that would get past the switchboard and the PR firm, and listened to the phone ring.
A familar drawling voice was at the other end. "This better be important!"
"Howdy Bubba, this is Red. How would you like to catch a Ranger's spring training game..."