"These were little silver guys like the grunions, ...."

Those were the words I heard uttered by the mysterious lady in the bar. I had stopped in at Al's Lounge for a couple drinks. Al's is a skinny bar. You walk in the door and you'll see a row of booths on the left and the long bar on the right. Skinny aisle in between. So, I'm walking down the aisle toward my customary seat at the back when I notice Ralph Kinard, the local reporter for The Gazette, sitting in one of the booths, talking to someone. I nodded to Ralph but he didn't see me, so enraptured was he by whatever his companion was saying. He had his notepad out and was leaning forward on the table, scribbling furiously.

And that's when I heard her voice.

"These were little silver guys like the grunions, but maybe not so long."

I glanced at her as I walked by the booth. Fairly attractive, long, angular, a sort of youngish-looking Barbara Stresand. I tried to make eye contact but she was busy talking to Ralph about these grunion things, whatever the hell they were.

I got to my barstool and sat down. Al was busy polishing a glass with his ever-present white towel. He glanced up. "The usual, Gus?"

"Yep"

He grabbed a bottle of Old Crow from the shelf and poured me four fingers.

Setting the drink down in front of me, he said "Did ya see the dame, Gus?" He pointed toward the Steisand broad.

"Yeah, I saw her, Al. What is she doing with Ralph?"

"I don't know, Gus. She came in here, ordered a dozen beers, and Ralph showed up about 10 minutes later. By that time she had already finished the beers so Ralph bought her 10 more and they've been talking ever since."

I decided I'd get a little closer to the action and see if I could unveil this mystery. I ambled up to the booth next to them. A couple of the boys from the feed mill were there but I gave the the menacing nod of the head and they scampered away, leaving me free to sit in the empty booth and listen to Ralph and the Streisand broad.

From my vantage point I could see the back of Ralph's head and if I leaned casually to the side, like I was picking a napkin off the floor or something, I could get a good eyeful of the broad.

I listened.

Ralph asked, "When did you first see the grunion things?"

She couldn't answer at first because her head was tilted back and the contents of a beer bottle were flowing down her throat in a gurgling fashion. She belched, a polite little burp, and then said, "I went up to the botanical gardens outside of town and saw them as I was pawking my caw."

Pawking my caw. I wondered what the hell that meant. I took out a notepad and scribbled "pawking my caw" -- find definition.

At that point Ralph stood up and excused himself to go to the bathroom. I had an unobstructed view of the Streisand broad. She looked straight at me, but her eyes were unfocused and I don't think she noticed me. Suddenly she reached down and peeled her sweater from her body. She was wearing nothing but a tank top underneath. A yellow tank top with some little birds flying around in a whimsical fashion. I took a sip of my Old Crow and decided to concentrate on the tank top when she turned abruptly, hearing some noise at the bar, and that's when I saw the tattoo. A large demented-looking cockroach emblazoned on her arm.

Ralph came back and sat down, blocking my view of the Steisand broad and the demented cockroach.

Where had I seen that apparition before? Think, dammit, Gus.....think!

And then it hit me. The Occult Book.

I had a book at home about devil worship and that sort of things. The book was about all the bizarre cults around the world and their symbols.

That's where I had seen the demented cockroach. I slammed the rest of my Old Crow and slipped out the back door. I raced home and dug the book out from the top shelf. Blowing the dust off the cover, I started to turn the pages. Page 124 ended my search. There was the demented cockroach, right below the heading, which said, in bold letters....



THE DEMONIC SISTERHOOD OF THE GARDENING BITCHES

I started reading the text. Apparently this cult was a group of women on the East Coast who lured men into their gardens with promises of fornication and then bit their heads off when they weren't looking. They would then run the victim's body through a wood chipper and use it for garden fertilizer and save the head for--

****. I don't have time to finish this story. There's a squad car outside. Lights are going and I can see ol' Officer Jenkins getting out of the car. He seems mighty flustered about something.

I'll get back to you.