Real Men Don't Bark at Fire Hydrants Part 10

As Mickey pa.s.sed, the b.u.m winked at him. Then he went back to eying the blonde's legs.

No one shouted. Nor did anyone seem to notice when Mickey crossed at the corner and glanced toward the alley's mouth. No police car was in sight, but still he did not breathe easily until he had turned two corners and could see an entrance to Roswell Park ahead.

A squad car drove slowly through the intersection just ahead. Its lightbar was not flashing. His throat tightened, and he tasted acid. A woman left the park leading a small dog on a leash. As she reached the curb, something frilly and yellow fell from beneath her skirt. With barely a glance at what she was leaving behind, she freed her ankles and moved on. The dog ignored the puddle of cloth.

He surrendered to the first park bench he saw. Since it was half surrounded by shrubbery, it felt protective, a shield against discovery if the cops turned their attention in this direction. He knew the feeling was an illusion, but he embraced it anyway. He needed a respite, a moment to think about what was going, to try to make sense of it all.

People didn't split pants that often. He had seen it twice in one morning.

People didn't drop skirts and panties or slips either. And he had seen that twice too.

Were the aliens trying to keep him from being arrested? Distracting people?

"But I can't even say they're real yet," he muttered to himself. "On the other hand, someone certainly seems to be trying to stop my investigation."

Two groups of aliens?

Not just barking dog-mimics, but cats as well.

"I'll know if anyone ever meows at me. Or at a hydrant."

He choked off a hysterical giggle before it got out of control.

Or was it just that the aliens didn't fit human clothes properly, so that they kept falling off?

He snorted. "Then there must be a lot of 'em out there."

9. Clem Padiddlepopper Rides Again

"What are you talking to yourself about?"

"Rocky!" He jerked and looked for cops converging on him.

The bench lurched as she sat down. "You're off the hook," she said. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. That was a nasty trick."

"What do you mean?" If he was off the hook, why did she sound so mad?

She punched his knee. "I should have had more faith in you, I suppose. But I really didn't think you could be that mean." She punched him again.

"What...?"

"They finally took a close look at that hand. It was candy! Marzipan!"

"You mean it wasn't real?"

"Don't sound so G.o.ddam surprised!" This time she punched his biceps. "You put it there."

"I did not!"

"Then who did?"

His bewildered gesture was quite enough to say he hadn't the foggiest.

"Aliens, huh?" She made a face as if the words tasted bad, but she said nothing more. Instead, she slumped against his side. "You want to go home now?"

He leaned back against the bench and put an arm around her shoulders.

"How'd you find me?"

"A man in a business suit. He even had an attache case."

"Just like the one I saw."

She nodded against his side. "Yeah. I was at the office. Running out for some tissues. Soggy client, you know? He stopped me outside the drugstore and told me."

"Did he bark? Or keep looking at fire hydrants?"

"Not that I noticed," she said. Then she sat up straight and touched her hair. "Actually, he kept looking at me."

Rocky had left his car just outside Roswell Park. When they reached it, she gestured him toward the driver's side. "Sorry I took it," she said. "I guess I was in a rush."

"The hotel's not far away. I'll get my stuff. And Kilroy. And then...?

Home?"

She shook her head. "Back to work. I've missed one appointment already."

He stepped on the brakes as the light ahead turned red.

Something banged against the left front fender.

Rocky yelped.

A jaunty wave drew Mickey's eye to a battered top hat and a ragged overcoat, a tall figure with a goofy grin, and a hand raised to throw...

He rolled down his window. "What the h.e.l.l did you do that for?"

The b.u.m grinned still more widely, bounced his rock in his palm, and crossed the street to look down at Mickey. "It's how I get a bed at night," he said. "When the shelters are full, thank you."

Before Mickey could wonder out loud why this man looked so familiar, Rocky was leaning across his chest. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I was aiming for the headlight, you know. Once I hit a couple, someone always calls the cops."

"You must have a name," said Rocky.

He dropped his rock, lifted his hat enough to let gray curls escape, and looked thoughtful. "The cops just call me Clem. Clem Padiddlepopper."

The car behind them honked. Mickey looked up. The light was green. "Hop in," he said. "We'll take you to the station." When they were moving once more, he asked, "Why Padiddlepopper?"