One should be careful when they ask cosmic questions because the world is a mystical place. Nine times out of ten, you get an answer. Joanna Kowalski gave me mine just as I began to consider a pro-rated cost schedule for senior citizens.  

"All I have is my social security check, but I'll give it all to you and live on catfood for the next month if you'll chase down those brats and find out what happened to my collection."

There were two things I was sure about Joanna.  One is that she was lying. Any overage bimbo who had managed to get ringside seats for every pro-wrestling exhibition that flew into town had to have some cash stored away somewhere.  The other was that she knew which buttons to push.

"Don't worry about it Joanna. I'll look into this, but we'll barter for it."

Joanna gave me a knowing look. That scared me.

"I'll do it for a home cooked meal," I said quickly, before the idea I saw forming had a chance to set. "Think you can manage that?"

Joanna did her best to hide her disappointment.

"It will be my pleasure," Mr. Wickham.  "When will I hear from you?"

"Tonight after the kids get out of school and their parents get home from work. Just give me your grandson's address and I'll do a little door to door sweep. We'll talk it over over dinner." 

Joanna quickly scribbled down the address on a scrap of paper.  Then she smiled bravely, rose and got up to leave, but just as she got to the door she turned back just in time to catch Sharyl begin a deep tongue probe into my ear canal.

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