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made a promise not to squeal,” she cooed. “And I intend to keep it.
“Bisides,” she added, “I have to live on these streets.” That was true. She did live on the streets.
“You’re asking for nothing but trouble,” I warned, choking on one of the cigarettes.
“Hey, trouble is my middle name (that was true, too). But I’ll tell you what 111 do. I still owe you one. I can give you a clue to solve this case, and that will settle the score.”
“Fair enough,” I said, getting over my cough.
Just as I turned to get the clue, she was gone, vanished into the fog. She also vanished into the dark because the street light just went dark.
“Clever dame,” I said in a muffled, smoke-covered voice, knowing full well that she had already given me the clue I needed.
I arrested Lucas (who again told me he hated me) on three counts of B&E and larceny.
I explained that LuLu intentionally knocked out the street light to remind me of my second mental note. I had already forgotten the first one. The broken street light symbolized the jockey who fell and smashed into pieces in the apartment the other day. I knew then Lucas was the guilty party.
Just as I concluded that long and boring and not-terribly-rational explanation, a sponge rubber ball crashed through the apartment window to my left overlooking the street. ’
Barney O’Flaherty just blasted a shot off one of the neighborhood kids for a homer. But Barney missed second base and was called out on the appeal
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