“…Well, that’s one hell of a story,” commented Yanis while trimming my sideburns. “If that’s not a lawsuit worth some money, then you can call me a monkey’s uncle. Shame about the cat, though…From what you told me, he seemed like a good one.”
“Oh, no, he’s still alive,” I spoke in correction. “Turns out that his blood clots like a champ, and he made it to the vet, where he got patched up. He’s getting better every day, but it’ll be a while before he cozies up to anyone’s leg…”
Yanis patted me on the back. “Hey, that’s good news, my friend! So, it all worked out. Flukeman lives, and with the help of a lawyer, you can still get a little piece of that mayor’s money in your pocket. Though, since she’s Jewish, you’re going to need a good one, since she’s bound to have a few talented ones as cousins…”
“You know, I wasn’t really looking for a pay day, you thieving Greek racist…” I began, wiggling my nose in order to purge a few irritating strands from my nostrils.
“Now you’re just repeating yourself. The word Greek means thief in Latin, because those damn Romans hated us! You didn’t know that, did you?”
“Hmmm…I’m not so sure about that. If anything, it probably means elderly compulsive liar…in any case, I’m not looking for any legal action. I think Mayor Dwek is a good person at heart…In fact, this entire mess produced some positive results. The mayor said that she owes me a big favor, and as it turns out, Bertha and Helga are both big animal people. When they saw me holding Flukeman, it flipped a switch in them, and now all the major players on the defendants’ side want to end the suit. I never would have guessed it, especially since Bertha seems as affectionate as a double-barreled shotgun. So, all in all, there was some good fallout from this whole ordeal…”
Yanis shrugged his shoulders. “That’s true…could’ve ended worse, right?”
I sighed. “Yeah, I suppose so…It’s funny, though. A few blocks down in Union City, there’s an Islamic school for kids. And only several blocks away, there’s a synagogue surrounded by the homes of several Jewish families. From what I know, it’s been that way for decades at least, and in that time, not one person has died from being stabbed or blown up by bombs. In my building, though, people haven’t lived together for more than a year, and already, someone’s been shot! You know there’s no hope when Muslims and Jews get along better than we do…”
“And now, all that’s left is the business with Octavio and the other fellow,” bombinated Yanis, instead spending his concentration on perfecting the symmetry of my remaining hair.
I nodded ever so slightly, not wanting to give Yanis an excuse to cut me. “You mean Joe…and yeah, I’m still not sure what to do about that one…who knows. On a side note, I did get an email from our building super Miguel the day before yesterday, saying that he had some new information for me.”
Yanis raised both his eyebrows and a few locks of my hair, with the intention of cutting the latter. “Oh yeah? About what?”
“I don’t know…maybe someone else is stealing packages from the lobby. Maybe it’s got something to do with the crying girl that I mentioned to him…you know, the ghost. Remember?”
“Ohhh, yes, I remember,” replied Yanis, with the enthusiasm of one who has placed that very scenario within the Favorites folder of his ‘spank tank’. “Did you get another chance lately to take a second look? How are her tits?”
“Sorry, my perverted friend. I haven’t seen her in quite a while. Anyway, he mentioned something about how a lawyer might have some important info to give me…but I don’t know who the hell he’s talking about…”
“Maybe he’s talking about that Chinese lawyer lady, who lives a double life as a prostitute?” posed Yanis, as he brushed away the cut hair from my shoulders and prepared the electric razor for edging the back of my head.
Slowly, faint twilight memories of Brian mentioning such a person began to percolate through the unctuous sludge that served as my brain. “Hmmm…you just might be right, Yanis…tell me, how the hell did you remember something so unimportant from so many moons ago? I couldn’t have said more than a sentence about that months ago, six at least.”
“Hey,” crooned Yanis, tapping the back of the electric razor against the white chest hair and gold chain that were protruding from his open shirt, “When it comes to pussy, I never forget a thing.”
“So maybe pussy is a cure for Alzheimer’s?” I suggested.
Yanis shook his head. “No, my friend, you’ve got it all wrong…pussy is a cure for everything.”
I attempted to laugh without moving my head too much. “Sometimes I forget who I’m talking to…Tell you what, I’ll pass along her number if I happen to get it.”
“That’s all I need,” bragged Yanis, finished with edging and now showing me the back of my head with a mirror. “And in the end, she’ll be paying me.”
“Oh, yeah…I bet.”
Peter Bolton is the author of Blowing the Bridge: A Software Story and has also been known to be a grumpy bastard on occasion.