FRIDAY, APRIL 16, 2010

The little man bent closer to the table; so close that his nose was almost touching it. The light was dim, but even if it had been blasting down on him like the newly installed banks of lights in Wrigley Field (actually installed in 1988), Lil' Abner wouldn't have been able to see very well. With his clumsy, stubby fingers he was toiling over some empty capsules that looked like prescription medicine. He had dumped out the original contents and was trying to refill the capsules with an alternate substance.

For the tenth time he dropped one of the capsule halves on the table. "God Damn it!" he growled, and pounded his fist on the table - inadvertently crushing a couple of the empty capsules. This was not the job for Arturus, and he knew it.

Dominic Plato Arturus, aka "Lil' Abner", was a man with a long criminal background. He had pretty much done it all, so long as it was small time - petty theft, stealing cars, picking pockets, breaking and entering, grifting, even one or two armed robberies. He always got caught. When he wasn't in jail, chances were strong that he was doing something to get himself back there ASAP.

Right now he was emptying out the prescription meds that belonged to Irene Charlemagne, and replacing the contents with something which better served the purpose of he and his cohorts. If Lil' Abner could just keep the piles of white powder straight, he would have his victim fixed up good for at least another two weeks. This whole business was probably the most elaborate scheme he had ever been involved in, and he was proud to be doing his part. He felt a sense of accomplishment whenever he imagined her popping some pills, metabolizing the hallucinogens, and flipping off to Bizarro Land on his dime. He only wished he could see it happening.

But that part of the operation wasn't within his jurisdiction. There were several people involved in the plot to send Charlemagne off the deep end - including her supposed partner, Corg, who was the one who routinely filched the medicine bottles from her bungalow, brought them to Arturus, and then replaced them with the doctored substitutes. The goal was to torpedo whatever the mysterious experiment was that these erstwhile gumshoes were trying to perfect. Supposedly, if this experiment succeeded, it would result in it being even harder for guys like Lil' Abner to stay on the sunny side of the prison walls. Corg apparently knew what was going on, but the crazy bastard wasn't telling Abner anything about it. He didn't know why. He had given up trying to find out. He wasn't the brains of this operation (it wasn't really a brains type of operation anyway, he thought). He was just trying to do his part.

"Daisy Mae! You little bitch, did you piss on that door frame again? For Christ's sake, tell me if you need to go out!"

Lil' Abner was yelling at his constant companion Daisy Mae, who was never seen without Arturus at her side, or vice versa. Daisy Mae was a Miniature Schnauzer. The little dog tipped the scales at about eleven pounds, and had a rather wiry salt and pepper coat. Lil' Abner loved his Daisy Mae. Even though he was usually cursing at his companion or trying to chase the animal away from one thing or another. But many days, Daisy was the only one he had to talk to. And he was the only one the mutt had to converse with, as well.

"Listen, Hillbilly, I can piss anywhere I damn well feel like it," the little dog yapped at him. "You never let me out anyway. Has it ever occurred to you maybe I'd like to go out on a date? Maybe get laid? There's a cute dachshund down the street that's built like a brick doghouse! I suppose you haven't noticed."

Lil' Abner shook his head, with resignation. Everybody gave him trouble, even his dog. He tried again to get the powder into the tiny capsules. It was a nice little concoction that included a number of goodies, including what he liked to call "weapons grade" lysergic acid diethylamide (known to Timothy Leary and many others simply as LSD, of course), cut with ground up stink beetle shell, and baby powder.

Trying to keep the whole plan running smoothly required a fair amount of scratch. In order to finance it all, another of the "master criminals" involved, Balthazar Blazeek, had set up some false businesses used mostly to launder the counterfeit bills that the group was printing. Blazeek, or "Bo" as he was known, had opened a chain of fly-by-night dives in various seedy locations. They all had one thing in common: they sold total crap to people who just didn't know any better, and paid out all their change using phony greenbacks. There was Bo's Tuna-Fish Pie Emporium; Bo's Gourmet Ice Cream Bazaar; Bo's Sewer-Rooter Service, and a couple others that Abner couldn't remember the names of. Whenever he saw Blazeek, which wasn't often, he would try to strike up a conversation, but mostly the guy just hollered out a bunch of non-words like "Hoy!" and "Booyrah!", pounded his hairy chest, and galloped out the door. Somebody told him that Bo slept every night in a gorilla suit, winter or summer, didn't matter. If it's not one damn thing it's another, he thought.

Finally Lil' Abner had the correct powder put into the capsules. Carefully he replaced them in the prescription bottle and sat them on a shelf by the door. He never knew exactly when Corg would come by, but at least they were ready for him to pick up. Usually he could smell Corg before he came through the door anyway. What a wretch, he thought. And bug-fuck crazy besides.

"So do you want to go for a walk?" Lil' Abner asked Daisy Mae, who was still standing near the dripping door frame.

"Why don't you stick it in your ass, Cowboy Copas?" was the response. "And why in hell did you name me 'Daisy Mae' in the first place? Can't you even see I ain't female?" barked Daisy Mae, raising his back leg to reveal his pink doggie weiner sticking out of its sheath.