Lick Your Neighbor by Chris Genoa Page A

Tinker is in.”
    Randy unpinched his nose.
    “Randolph Tinker, Esquire here.”
    Andie sighed. “Randy, Dale’s in jail. They think he murdered Gobbling Gus.”
    Randy hung up.
    “A bit early for practical jokes, Andie.”
    Randy stared at the leaning tower of papers in his inbox, on the bottom of which was an unpaid bill for the inbox itself.
    “Time to get some work done.”
    Randy cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath, and then got down to business.
    He peeled off two post-it notes, stuck them together back to back, and began to staple them together around the perimeter.
    The phone rang again.
    “Tinker, Goldberg, and Slaughter, we tinker with the law and slaughter your enemies to get you the gold you deserve, how may I direct your call?”
    “Randy, I’m serious! Dale is in jail for hanging Gobbling Gus.”
    “One moment please, I’ll see if Mr. Tinker is in.”
    “Jesus Christ, Randy.”
    “Randolph Tinker here.”
    “Randy, listen to me. Listen very carefully. Dale is in jail and—”
    “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it right there, Andie. Something incredibly important was just brought to my attention.”
    “What? What is it?”
    “My breakfast is here.”
    “Dammit, Randy!”
    Donna brushed aside a stack of unopened letters to make room for Randy’s breakfast. The homefries were, as advertised, pretty much just thick hashbrowns.
    Taking in a big whiff of garlic, Randy said, “There is a God. And while he might not be watching over me, at least he’s not purposely trying to fuck with me. Any mail this morning, Donna?”
    “Yes, quite a few bills. I tried to put them on top of the pile but it was too much. It would have toppled over. So I filed them in the usual place.”
    “The trash can?”
    “Yep.”
    “Whatever I’m paying you, double it.”
    Donna, now getting paid double zero dollars as a secretary and a 5% tip from Randy as a waitress, walked out giving Randy the finger. Randy didn’t notice because he was staring lovingly into his cup of coffee.
    “Coffee, you dark, rich whore. You are the bitter nectar that sustains me. Now where was I? Oh yes, the phone.” Randy clicked the speaker phone button on. “Hello? Andie?”
    “Randy, you piece of shit, listen to me! I’m not joking. The cops think Dale hung Gobbling Gus in our backyard.”
    “Andie, calm down. Why in the world would anyone think something as ridiculous as that?”
    “Because this morning they found Gus hanging in our backyard.”
    Randy spit a chunk of potato clear across the room. “Dear God! You mean he’s guilty?”
    “No! It was probably some kids playing a prank. Or maybe he was framed, who knows.”
    “You know what I think?” Randy leaned back in his chair. “I think this whole thing sounds fishy. Maybe I should head downtown this afternoon. See what the word is on the street.”
    “You’re talking about going downtown to that shithole bar and getting plastered aren’t you?”
    “I’ll have you know,” Randy said, “that The Thirsty Pilgrim is a veritable goldmine of tips, clues, leads, and—”
    “And booze, Randy.”
    “Did you say boobs? The only boobs there at this time of day would be mine.” Randy poked his flabby chest. “Hmmmm. Perhaps some push-ups are in order.”
    “Booze, Randy! I said booze!”
    “Oh booze! Boooooze. My God, it’s relaxing just to say it sometimes. Say it with me, Sis. Booooooooo.”
    “Randy, please! Just go help my husband first and then you can go back to drinking your life away.”
    “Deal. But if I can’t go see what the word is on the street, then I’m going to need some leads from you, Sis.”
    “Leads? Like what?”
    Randy got down on the floor. “I don’t know, some clues. Did you notice anything unusual happen lately involving Gus or other turkeys perhaps? Besides the whole hanging business of course.”
    Randy got into the push-up position. His arms immediately started shaking and his face turned red.
    “No, not really,” Andie said. “Just