From: caz@owlnet.rice.edu (HWRNMNBSOL)
Subject: Excerpts from _Encyclopedia Spenser_
Organization: Rice University
Date: Thu, 19 Nov 1992 05:39:31 GMT

It was snowing on Shapley Street, and the crowds were just starting to thin
out after a thoroughly disheartening Celtics game.  Larry Byrd was, as usual,
on the injured list, and some measly expansion team had mopped them up at
home.  Defeats are always injurious, particularly if you are a Celtics fan,
and most certainly if you lose at home.  Cause for a class-action suit.  Wow.

I had spent most of the afternoon trying to coax a bust of Walter Cronkite
from a six-inch block of Yellow Pine.  Walter was retiring as always, and the
going was slow.  As of three-thirty, all I had was a graven image of something
that just might be mistaken for the abominable snowman.  It was time for a
break.

I hadn't exercised in days, and my body felt the craving for action.  I
put on some maroon sweats, white Adidas with a yellow stripe, and a grey
sweatshirt with BOSTON UNIVERSITY stencilled on the front.  I headed out
onto the street and turned right onto the causeway.  I jogged down past the
MIT campus and across the bridge on Carter before turning back.  Two coeds in
plaid overcoats and scarves took a look at me as I passed their bench.  Still
got the action, Spenser.  

By the time I got back, the sun was going down, and the air was starting to
get, as Churchill would have said, "Damned Nippy".  My legs felt good, and
I was practically reeking with vigor and good circulation.  The whole circuit
was just over six miles.

Not bad for a fifth-grader.......

                              - * -

The erstwhile-client stood at the mouth of my office/garage on Maple and 
looked nervous, pensive, and nervous -- all at once.  He was dressed in
an overly large wool coat, thick mittens, snow-scuffed overshoes, and a huge,
tufted touque.  He looked like he had been attacked by a gaggle of over-
protective moms.  He turned his quarter over and over in his hand and stared
at me as if I were the butcher's special.  I let him look.  I thought about
doing a pirouette, but decided against it.

I broke the ice -- Miss Manners says any good host must break the ice -- and
offered him a chair.  He gratefully took it.  We sat some more.  He looked.
I sat.  Still no pirouette.

I couldn't take it any longer.  "You're not too frumpy yourself, sailor."

He started.  "Huh?"

"No, no -- you're supposed to mention the Casbah, and then we...."

His face flushed, and his eyes narrowed at me.  "I had heard you thought you
were some kind of wit."

"Look -- we can either stare all day, or you can hire me.  I understand that
you want to check out the goods, though -- what do you want to know?"

He looked relieved, in a thick kind of way.  I wondered if he knew how to
spell 'pirouette'.  Probably not.

"You look big.  Muscly.  Do you work out?"

"Yeah.  I can bench 75."

"How many reps?"

"Ten."

"How'd you get the braces?"

"I tangled with an orthodontist."

"What's that bulge in your shirt?"

"My hall pass.  Okay, end Q+A: I charge a quarter, plus expenses.  I don't
do windows, I don't do peep shows, and I don't snuff bullies.  What I do do
is find things.  I'm good at finding things.  I may even be the best finder
that you can afford.  Do you want to hire me?"

He chewed on his lip.  He looked like a lip-chewer.  "Yeah....okay.  You're
on."  He plunked his quarter down on the gas canister.  "I need you to find
my gerbil......."

                             - * -

I went home and looked in the fridge.  There were a couple of six-packs of
Sprite hiding behind some lettuce.  I opened one and drank it.  Then I drank
another.  It was good.

I pulled some frozen pizzas out of the freezer and put them on the counter.
While they were thawing, I took a shower.  At the same time, I changed the
wrappings on my injury.  The puncture was shallow, but bloody, and penetrated
my palm almost to the muscles of my hand.  Next time, I thought, Bugs Meany
wouldn't have the hole punch.....

I went back to the kitchen and grated some cheddar.  I chopped some olived
and green onions, and threw them on the pizza.  Then I put the whole thing
in the microwave and put it on 'high' for two minutes and thirty seconds.
As I waited, I had a few more Sprites.  By the time the pizza was ready, I
had a great sugar-buzz on, and my wounds didn't seem so dire.  I ate the 
pizza with some Syrian bread and gaspaccio, and washed it down with Sprite.
Then I washed the dishes, went to bed, and fell asleep.  The next morning,
I missed the school bus.

                             - * -

I was having dinner with Sally Silverman.  She was the prettiest girl in the
entire fifth grade.  Every time I saw her, little peeping noises came from
behind my solar plexus.  Tonight was no exception.

She was wearing a polka-dotted white blouse with red hot pants and silver
pumps.  She had huge imitation-gold hoop earrings, and her hair was carefully
moussed.  Her makeup was good, and her gum was banana.  She smiled at me, and
something went 'zing'.  I smiled back, carefully concealing the slight blurring
of my vision.

Burger King was almost empty, and we managed an almost intimate dinner.  She
was having the Whopper.  I had a sack of Burger Bites.  We ate, and then we
talked.  She was worried; twice now my life had been menaced by Bugs Meany
and his homicidal cronies.  My recent escape from the gym tetherball menace
had been due only to luck (on my part), incompetence (on their part), and
my remembering that pigs are EVEN-toed ungulants.  Books are power.

"Spenser, I'm worried."

"Me too."

"You're life is in jeopardy."

"It's my job."

"Why do you have to put everything on the line?"

"I don't know.  I think it has something to do with honor, and being a man."

"It's that macho code again."

"Something like that."

She reached out, touched my arm.  My nerves did the tango.

"Oh, Spenser, promise me you'll get help.  Please."

She had something there.  Morty had gotten himself into big trouble, and I
needed to help get him out -- a gerbil's life was a stake.  But there was
no reason to go it alone.

Maybe it was time to call in Hawk.....


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