A Little More From To Fetch A Thief (Now IN PB)
“What’s a border, Chet?” Bernie said. I waited to hear. “Just a line on a map, drawn by politicians. Is that supposed to impress us?” I didn’t know. We came to a crossroads, the pavement continuing straight ahead, a dirt track leading off to the side. Bernie pulled over, shut off the engine.
It was real quiet. Bernie twisted around in his seat, gazed at Dos Jorobas. In between the humps lay a little clump of white. “San Anselmo,” Bernie said. “That was our plan. Do we cut and run, let ourselves get pushed around?” Were we getting pushed around? By who? I didn’t know, but getting pushed around was out of the question. I barked. Bernie laughed and gave me a pat. Then he opened the glove box and took out the .38 Special and a box of ammo. “Don’t know about you,” Bernie said, loading the rounds – those rounds, glittering in the sun, a sight I always liked seeing! – into the cylinder. “But I’m in the mood for pushing back.”
Me, too. That was exactly my mood, to a T, whatever that means. There were golf tees, of course, and once in a pro shop I’d gotten into a bit of a – but forget all that. How could this be about golf? Had golf come up in this case, even once? Hey! In fact, it had. I remembered Colonel Drummond on the practice tee – whoa, another T – and those yellow pants. So maybe this was about golf, after all. Fine with me. I was ready for anything, including golfers in yellow pants trying to push us around.
Welcome Miss Daisy and Red Hat.
Snowhook Auction continues!
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