Scoring A Milk Bone
“Is it possible Chet wants another milk bone?” said Arnold Fetzer. “He’s awfully close to that drawer.”
“I wouldn’t bet against it,” Bernie said.
And in no time at all I had another milk bone! I took it to a nice quiet space under a table and got to work.
“You were telling us about Ezra Printz, Hollywood flack,” Bernie said.
Fetzer nodded. “Just as long as you didn’t get it from me.”
“That’s a deal, as long as nothing ends up in court.”
“In court?” said Fetzer. “Is there any possibility of that happening?”
“There’s the possibility of that happening every day you wake up,” Bernie said.
There was? I’ve only been to court once. I was Exhibit A. Not sure what that is, exactly, but it meant I had to walk across the room – with some uniformed guy, not Bernie – and on a leash. The leash is something I can do if I really, really have to, and afterward Bernie gave me a Polish sausage. Never had one before or since, but it did look like a pole, except much shorter, and tasted great. Exhibit B was a .44 Magnum I’m dug up out of some perp’s flower bed. He’s probably still wearing an orange jump suit at Central State. I think all that’s in Thereby Hangs A Tail.
I polished off the milk bone. Where were we?
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