2-3

Well, the beaver thought, I guess I’d better get the background. He picked up the tattered Hilroy and flipped through it until he came to the first page that mentioned Magrath.

Wednesday, May the twenty-second, nineteen hundred and eighty-five

Well, I blew into this piss-ass town about 12:15. Just in time to see the hayseeds and hicks shuffle their way to the local food trough on main street. I figured that was as good a place as any to find Mayor McCheese. Probably stuffing his pasty face with deep-fried buffalo chips or whatever passes for local cuisine in this hole.

And lo and behold, who was sitting on his fat ass right by the counter, making moo-eyes at the tackily dressed waitress behind the till. Well, to make a long story short (and probably more interesting than anything real involving these clods), Mr. Mayor was ’dee-lighted’ to see me and invited me over to the office to chat about the cesspool he’s forced to put up with.

Christ, I have no idea why the suicide rate in places like this doesn’t exceed the birthrate. Maybe humping’s the only thing that makes it better.

So it looks like I’m here for a few weeks at least. Mayor McStupid bought the line and is putting me on the payroll. It’s not really worth the time, but it will cover expenses while I get on with it. I mentioned this Meredith McGrath woman and got a bite. Seems she’s in the habit of picking up strays — now there’s a stupid idea if I ever heard one — and she frequents the scuzzy taverna at the hotel most Thursday afternoons.

So I’ll plug my nose, take a room in the putrid hotel and arrange to ’meet’ the ’meat’ tomorrow afternoon. And hopefully somewhere in this pus-ridden burg I can find a cup of coffee that doesn’t taste like petroleum byproducts.

Ordo ab chao,
Barnabas