As She Rides By (Vic Daniel Series)

by David Pierce

  Evonne entered and closed the door behind her. She gazed down at me. I gazed up at her. Blood continued to trickle down my cheek and spatter onto the carpet.

  "Peaches, I can explain everything," I said. "Almost."

  "Victor, with you," she said, "almost is as much as a girl could ever dream of."

  What a pretty compliment, I thought.

  "And don't bother getting up," she went on. "I know where you keep the first-aid kit, I ought to by now." She headed out back toward the kitchenette. From a certain determination in her stride, I figured it was at least three-to-one on the iodine.

  HERE ARE THE complete and unabridged lyrics of the masterpiece I penned for Tom 'n' Jerry. They did not go wild about them, nor did they record them. More fools they, or it might be them, but it's still fools.

  Keepin' the Faith

  by Victor Daniel

  Well, I'm sittin' and I'm sweatin' in a tin bar near the border,

  Sharin' a bottle of cold Carta Blanca with my memories.

  Once in a while I buy a beer for the fat bartender,

  Once in a while the fat bartender does the same for me.

  I dunno what he's waitin' for, it could be just mañana,

  Or a car with a drunken millionaire that's gonna stop one day.

  There'll be a beautiful, bored blond gringa who's lookin' for a change of pace,

  And she'll say, "Vamos, amigos!" and they'll all drive away.

  But I don't need no crazy dream, I know what I'm waiting for,

  And that's a $200 check from my old pal Samuel D.

  That's got to be as safe as U.S. money in the bank,

  'Cause we been drinkin' buddies since we met in '63.

  See, we was workin' in this run-down, one-pump garage out on Highway 104,

  About ten miles northeast of Tucson, and the very last I heard

  He'd bought himself a truck or two and he'd found himself a Cherokee girl—

  I know he'll send the dinero the very day he gets the word.

  See, I was makin' this quiet little run from Tampa through Nogales,

  I was supposed to meet a Mexican gent in a field near Monterrey.

  I had this little package they'd requested me to deliver—

  It wasn't strictly legal, but hell, tell me what is today?

  But somebody musta had a loose mouth, or else they couldn't hold their juice,

  Or it coulda been some dirty little stoolie after a piece of the reward,

  'Cause the federales flagged me down, then they tore up my old Desoto,

  And two hours mas tarde they found it taped beneath the runnin' board.

  Well, we settled out of court, 'cause that's the Mexicali way,

  But after that I wasn't what you'd call a man o' means.

  But I had this little stash I kept down inside one boot,

  And that's kept me goin' for quite a while on beer 'n' refried beans . . .

  So all I gotta do now is hang on and keep the faith,

  'Cause I know my drinkin' buddy, my old amigo Samuel D.,

  I just know that lop-eared, bandy-legged son of a woman-chasin' fool,

  I know my viejo compadre is gonna keep the faith with me.

  So I'm sittin' and I'm sweatin' in a tin bar near the border,

  Sharin' a bottle of cold Carta Blanca with my memories.

  Once in a while I buy a beer for the fat bartender;

  Once in a while the fat bartender does the same for me.

  © Sept., 1990. All rights reserved.

  Here are the complete and unfortunately unabridged lyrics Sara Twerp Silvetti wrote and slipped to Jerry at the Bar-Bee-Q, remember? The boys went wild about them and say they plan to record them at their first opportunity. I will not be responsible—and, after legal counsel, have taken out ads in several publications stating this—I will not be responsible for my behavior should I ever chance to hear said "song" on my car radio.

  Summer Song

  by Silly Sara Silvetti*

  Summer songs

  Are best sung

  When icicles form

  And the willow bends her knees

  Under the burden of a flake-white hood.

  Summer songs

  Are best heard

  By fireside warm

  While the dozing kitten dreams,

  Deaf to the snapping sandalwood.

  Summer songs

  Are best forgot

  When mean old autumn

  Comes begging at the kitchen door.

  "It's not my fault!" cried he.

  "I stayed away as long as I could!"

  Pathetic is the first word that springs to my mind, amigos; I won't even bother asking you which song you'd record if you had the chance.

  DAVID M PIERCE was born in Canada, lived for a time in Los Angeles, and now resides in Paris. He is the author of five previous V. Daniel books, most recently Write Me a Letter (1993) and Angels in Heaven (1991).

  *Not copyrighted anywhere. No rights reserved.