It's a Hell of a Job, But Someone Has to Do It

At the corner of No Hope & Vine, I stopped at the entrance to the Crimeucopia-cabana Club. Let's face it, with that amount of neon lettering, it was hard to miss. Inside the foyer I checked my hat with the hatcheck girl. She confirmed it.

"Yeah, that's definitely a hat."

As she walked to the back of her cubicle and put it on a shelf, I thought: Nice Gams. True, it was an odd name for a broad-but then, her father was from Neu Joy-zee.

Inside, I stood by the barroom entrance and looked around. It was an old Dinner & Dance joint that had been booked for what looked like a strange social club get-together.

There was a bunch of new Club members, mixed in with a collection of old faces.

Jon Matthew Farber, Dan Leicht, Daniel C. Bartlett, Rod A. White, Jim Guigli, J.W. Wood, M.E. Proctor, Russell Epp-Leppel, Matt McGee, Robb White, Glenn Francis Faelnar, Josh Pachter, Jon Fain, Gerald Elias, Ron Clyburn, Michael Wiley and Mark Coggins.

Hmmm. Best to remind the barman that this was a strictly cash-only affair, as some of them were already running tabs the size of War & Peace.

I checked the room one last time, then decided my blood pressure would be better off if I headed back to my office.

Outside the club I paused to put on my hat. Over the opposite side of the street was the imposing Gothic style MIP Towers Central Library. The sign in the massive window by the open front door read:

You never know what you like until you come in and read it.

I nodded in agreement. With writers like these, you sure as Hell don't.

As I turned to start walking back to my office, a 6ft 6 basso profundo voice from the shadows said, "Goodnight, boss."

I smiled. "Goodnight, Louie. Clear 'em all out and get the place locked up by 6. We're running a nightclub here, not a flop house."

Three blocks later a punk stopped me on the street. He said, "You got a light, Mac?"

I said, "No, but I've got a dark brown overcoat."