VERY P.; ALL P. .....the new one INHERENT VICE!

[David Morris]

Here's the text:

She came along the alley and up
the back steps the way she always used
to. Doc hadn't seen her for over a year.
Nobody had. Back then it was always
sandals, bottom half of a flower-print
bikini, faded Country Joe and the Fish
T-shirt. Tonight she was all in flatland
gear, hair a lot shorter than he remembered,
looking just like she swore she'd
never look.

"That you, Shasta? The packaging
fooled me there for a minute."

"Need your help, Doc."

They stood in the streetlight
through the kitchen window there'd
never been much point putting curtains
over and listened to the thumping of the
surf from down the hill. Some nights,
when the wind was right, you could hear
the surf all over town.

Nobody was saying much. What
was this? "So! You know I have an office
now? Just like a day job and everything?"

"I looked in the phone book, almost
went over there. But then I thought,
better for everybody if this looks like a
secret rendezvous."

OK, nothing romantic tonight.
Bummer. But it might be a paying gig.
"Somebody's keeping a close eye?"

"Just spent an hour on surface
streets trying to make it look good."

"How about a beer?" He went to the
fridge, pulled two cans out of the case he
kept inside, handed one to Shasta.

"There's this guy," she was saying.

There would be. No point getting
emotional. And if he had a nickel for
every time he'd heard a client start off
this way, he would be over in Hawaii
now, loaded day and night, digging the
waves at Waimea, or better yet hiring
somebody to dig them for him. . . .

"Gentleman of the straight-world persuasion,"
he beamed.

"OK, Doc. He's married."

"Some . . . money situation."

She shook back hair that wasn't
there and raised her eyebrows so what.

Groovy with Doc. "And the wife—
she knows about you?"

Shasta nodded. "But she's seeing
somebody too. Only it isn't just the usual
number—they're working together on
some creepy little scheme."

"To make off with hubby's fortune,
yea, I think I heard of that happenin'
once or twice around L.A. And . . . you
want me to do what exactly?" He found
the paper bag he'd brought his supper
home in and got busy pretending to
scribble notes on it, because straightchick
uniform, makeup supposed to look
like no makeup or whatever, here came
that old well-known hard-on Shasta was
always good for sooner or latter. Does
it ever end, he wondered. Of course it
does. It did.

On Tue, Nov 25, 2008 at 12:12 PM, rich <richard.romeo at gmail.com> wrote:
> 416 pgs
>
> and on pg 44 of the Penguin catalog there is a brief excerpt between this guy Doc and his gal, Shasta