Chetspeak on Sunday
That was when I got a bad shock. We were in a kind of office – desk, chairs, computer, none of that shocking – and standing by the desk was the cop who’d spoken to Rick, also not shocking. The shocking part was the clown sitting in one of the chairs. I’d seen clowns on TV. They scare me every time, and this was much worse. The clown had a horrible white face with a red mouth and green eyes and nasty orange hair sprouting out of his head here and there. And it wasn’t just the sight of him: how about the smell? Partly he smelled like Livia Moon, who operated a house of ill-repute, whatever that may be, in Pottsdale, and partly he smelled like a human male. I hardly ever go backward, but I was going backward now, and barking my head off.
“Easy, Chet,” said Bernie.
“Dogs hate me,” said the clown.
He had a soft voice, actually sort of nice, although not as nice of Bernie’s, of course. I stopped barking, not all at once, more this gradual dial-down thing I do.
– from To Fetch A Thief.
Welcome little Miss Diva.
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