Phule’s Company by Robert Asprin

“Just relax, Harry,” he murmured. “Let’s not be too eager to post bail until we’re charged.”

“Haw! Hey, that’s a good one, Cap’n.”

“Good afternoon, Willard … Sergeant.” Goetz was standing over their table now. “Mind if I join you for a drink, or am I interrupting something?”

“As a matter of fact, Chief,” Phule said, glancing pointedly at his watch, “we are waiting to meet someone.”

Ignoring the hint, the policeman pulled up a chair and parked himself on it as if he had been invited.

“You know, it’s funny you should mention that.” He smiled, waving for the bartender. “We’ve got a guy down at the station, name of Weasel Honeycutt. Picked him up for questioning on a couple break-ins last night, and you know what? Instead of pushing for a lawyer like he usually does, what he wanted was for someone to come down here and tell you he wouldn’t be able to meet with you today … and here I am, being a conscientious public servant. Would that, by any chance, be the appointment you were waiting for?”

“Uh …”

“Good. Then you’ve got time to have that drink with me, and maybe answer a few questions yourselves … like what’s up between you and the Weasel?”

The last came out as a snarl, as Goetz abandoned his pleasant manner and glared at the two Legionnaires.

“He wanted to talk to the cap’n here about enlistin’,” Harry answered quickly.

Phule barely managed to avoid choking on an ice cube.

“Enlisting?” The chief’s eyebrows collided with his hairline. “I knew the Legion wasn’t picky about whom they recruited, but don’t you think that the Weasel is stooping a bit … even for you? I mean, you’ve already got one fence and black marketeer working for you.”