The blower sparked. I was in the middle of thinking about a case that needed some serious thinking. One Rocky Fell threw my way. Someone snatched a fur from a chiquita banana down The Valley and he figured it might've ended up in Stumptown. I was on it. I thought about letting Thelma get the blower, but by then my train of thought was on a Union Pacific siding across from Lupita's down in Woodburn. "D'Mestiere Investigations. Go." Dolly-girl. "Jack, National Night Out. Kitty's on it. I gotta go read some verses to people who need to be versed. I'll meet you there. Follow?" "OK, we'll be at Good Neighbor for a cold one by the time you get back to our side of the river." Click. Dolly-girl wasn't much for chit-chat once the plans were laid.
Kitty and I perambulated over to Woodlawn Park and did the once around on what was happening there. It was a slow night. A few hawkers were set up, trying to pedal either BBQ or blood pressure screenings. Didn't seem to me like either one did much for the other's business. Well, maybe a good shot of BBQ would give those screeners something to look at. A small crowd was gathering to watch The Wiz--we passed.
We headed on over to Good Neighbor, a joint that makes a good pizza pie and is known to have some cold ones to wash it down with. Me and Dolly-girl have them bring it by where we set the
brake from time to time, and Kitty likes to stop in the joint on the way home from her 9 to 5 and wash the dust out of her mouth, if you know what I mean.
It was a nice night to be out. Old Mister was feeling good on our backs and people were in the sort of mood that means the pop you hear is from a bottle of suds preparing to head downtown rather than from some punk's heater. We took a table outside, near the street, where I could keep any eye out for trouble just in case it decided to get
up, scratch its butt, and start something. Like I say, I wasn't expecting it, but when you're in a place that sells Old German for a clam a can, you never know when some hot head full of cold brew is going to think he might just have some of what he calls fun but what the Stumptown Police Bureau calls felony.
Missy was working the joint by himself. Me and Kitty nursed a
Walking Man and a Bull Run waiting for Dolly-girl and then decided to go ahead and get us a festa on a tile--run it through the garden and pin a rose on it. Oh, and give some zeppelin a ride through the oven too. "On it. Do it again?" "Never think twice." Kitty was thirsty. Missy was back in a while with a round and a little while later with a pie that made him look like he knew what he was up to. He makes the sauce, starting with seeds and soil, so it may take a while to get the feed bag, but when it comes, it's one of the best in Stumptown to my way of thinking. Dolly-girl's roadster squealed to a stop, she set the brake, hopped out, and got there just in time to shoot a look through the wave and grab a slice. Purrs from the two chiquitas told me that Good Neighbor was just the neighbor they were hoping to run into.
We settled up. It was a breeze, mostly 'cause Kitty paid, "I owe you from the other night, it's on me", but the damage wasn't much considering a couple of beers each and the festa. A chiquita's bag on the bar said it all--there's plenty of reasons to be a Good Neighbor...
The blower sparked. I was in the middle of thinking about a case that needed some serious thinking. One Rocky Fell threw my way. Someone snatched a fur from a chiquita banana down The Valley and he figured it might've ended up in Stumptown. I was on it. I thought about letting Thelma get the blower, but by then my train of thought was on a Union Pacific siding across from Lupita's down in Woodburn. "D'Mestiere Investigations. Go." Dolly-girl. "Jack, National Night Out. Kitty's on it. I gotta go read some verses to people who need to be versed. I'll meet you there. Follow?" "OK, we'll be at Good Neighbor for a cold one by the time you get back to our side of the river." Click. Dolly-girl wasn't much for chit-chat once the plans were laid.
Kitty and I perambulated over to Woodlawn Park and did the once around on what was happening there. It was a slow night. A few hawkers were set up, trying to pedal either BBQ or blood pressure screenings. Didn't seem to me like either one did much for the other's business. Well, maybe a good shot of BBQ would give those screeners something to look at. A small crowd was gathering to watch The Wiz--we passed.
We headed on over to Good Neighbor, a joint that makes a good pizza pie and is known to have some cold ones to wash it down with. Me and Dolly-girl have them bring it by where we set the 
brake from time to time, and Kitty likes to stop in the joint on the way home from her 9 to 5 and wash the dust out of her mouth, if you know what I mean.
It was a nice night to be out. Old Mister was feeling good on our backs and people were in the sort of mood that means the pop you hear is from a bottle of suds preparing to head downtown rather than from some punk's heater. We took a table outside, near the street, where I could keep any eye out for trouble just in case it decided to get 
up, scratch its butt, and start something. Like I say, I wasn't expecting it, but when you're in a place that sells Old German for a clam a can, you never know when some hot head full of cold brew is going to think he might just have some of what he calls fun but what the Stumptown Police Bureau calls felony.
Missy was working the joint by himself. Me and Kitty nursed a Walking Man and a Bull Run waiting for Dolly-girl and then decided to go ahead and get us a festa on a tile--run it through the garden and pin a rose on it. Oh, and give some zeppelin a ride through the oven too. "On it. Do it again?" "Never think twice." Kitty was thirsty. Missy was back in a while with a round and a little while later with a pie that made him look like he knew what he was up to. He makes the sauce, starting with seeds and soil, so it may take a while to get the feed bag, but when it comes, it's one of the best in Stumptown to my way of thinking. Dolly-girl's roadster squealed to a stop, she set the brake, hopped out, and got there just in time to shoot a look through the wave and grab a slice. Purrs from the two chiquitas told me that Good Neighbor was just the neighbor they were hoping to run into.
We settled up. It was a breeze, mostly 'cause Kitty paid, "I owe you from the other night, it's on me", but the damage wasn't much considering a couple of beers each and the festa. A chiquita's bag on the bar said it all--there's plenty of reasons to be a Good Neighbor...
1 comment:
Oh Jack...you're the bees knees.
Toodles,
Rouge
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