Page 28 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Two

“Would I send for you if it weren’t serious? We’ve already
gotten complaints from a couple of grannies who’ve seen him
walking his dog in the park.”
Megra finished his drink, belched, and put the empty bottle down
on Fygge’s desk with a resounding thump.
“Okay. That’s all I need to know. And you don’t need to know that
I don’t know anything about this meeting; in fact, we’ve already
forgotten about it. I’ll be in touch.”
He left the office, once more in the guise of an elderly
maintenance worker.

* * * * *

The doorbell tinkled discreetly; Bud Farcy had programmed it to
play a melodic snippet of a Boccherini quintet he remembered
from a childhood music box—or was it an ice cream truck? His
memory was slowly dimming, one flashing neuron at a time.
From his terrace chaise longue he flipped open the videocom
channel to his front door. A familiar face half in shadows smiled at
him from the screen.
“Chick? Is that you? I can barely make you out.”
“Yeah, it’s me. The security light must have burned out. Can I
come in, Bud? I found something interesting I want to show you.”
“Okay. I’ll notify the janitor about the bulb. You don’t sound so
good. Getting a cold?”
“No, I’m fine,” came the muffled reply. “Be right up.”
Bud clicked the door release button and struggled to his feet to
greet his friend, Charles Peabody. He was close to few people in the
sector, venturing out primarily to exercise his dog and poke around in
the shops. Bud’s dog also responded to the arrival of his neighbor.
She began wagging her tail as Peabody entered the apartment, but
suddenly stopped and growled at the newcomer.
“What is it, Madonna?”
The animal leaped at the visitor, fangs bared. He stepped aside and
poked her with a short shiny pistol-gripped rod. She yelped and fell
to the floor motionless.
Farcy’s jaw dropped. “What the hell—”
“Relax. She’ll come to in an hour or so, fit as a fiddle.”