‘ ‘Are you all right, Mr. Skeeve?” the street vendor asked,
extending a hand to help me to my feet.
“I think so… yes… thanks to you … J.R., isn’t it?”
“That’s right. I was walkin’ home when I saw these
jokers pilin’ into you. It looked a little uneven, so I thought
I’d lend a hand. Cheez! I didn ‘t know you wuz a magician!”
“A mighty grateful magician right now,” I s’aid, digging
into my pocket. “Here, take this. Consider it my way of
saying thank you.”
“Excuse me,” the Djin drawled, “but didn’t we just get
into this whole brawl so you could keep your money?”
He needn’t have worried. J.R. recoiled from the gold as
if I had offered him poison.
“I didn’t help you for money!” he said through tight
lips. “I know you don’t mean . . . Cripes! All you rich
guys are the same. You think your money . . . Look! I
work for my money, see! I ain’t no bum lookin’ for a
handout!”
With that he spun on his heel and marched away, leaving
me with an outstretched hand full of gold.
It would have been a beautiful exit, if the alley hadn’t
suddenly been blocked by a vehicle pulling in … a vehicle
with blue and red flashing lights on top.
Chapter Thirteen:
“Who? Me, Officer?”
—J. DILLINGER
“I STILL DON’T see why we should be detained.”
It seemed like hours that we had been at the police station,
we being myself, J.R., and, of course, Kalvin, though the
police seemed unaware of the latter’s existence and I, in
turn, was disinclined to tell them. Despite our protests, we
had been transported here shortly after the police had arrived.