As usual, folks, another Friday First! from Will Self: the new literary genre
that's all the rage!!--the Vanagon Detective Story!

                        --------------------------

As I sat at my desk in this sleazy joint that calls itself The Uncle Willy
Automotive Detective Agency, a blonde dame came through the door like
an old air-cooled pancake on fire.  If my gut feeling about dames like this
was right, I was going to need a bracer.  I pulled open the desk drawer with
the 35mm socket in its holster and the Southern Comfort.  The socket got to 
stay in the drawer--it was Comfort I was after.  I had recently refilled 
the bottle with the recommended VW blue coolant.

  I took a long swig, taking my time and squinting at the dame as I swallowed.  
She looked as impatient as a Porsche backed up behind a cross-country Vanagon 
tour.  I handed her the bottle.  Without a word, she downed the rest of it and 
pitched the bottle through the open window, where it landed on a pile of CV 
joints with a crash.

  "Hey, that stuff ain't cheap," I growled.  "Here, if you're going to drink
like a wasserboxer radiator, pour this down the maw."  I handed her an 
unopened bottle of Jack Daniels.

  "Never touch the stuff," she hiccupped.  "Look, Willy.  The name
is Marsha, the game is a hot investigation of counterfeit VW emblems."

  My ears pricked up.  They always do when someone calls me Willy.  Frankly,
it gives me the willies.  But I was interested in the part about hot.

  "I'm interested in the part about hot," I sneered.  "When it comes to blonde
dames, hot is my favorite part."  I smiled--if you can call it a smile--and
showed her my muffler burns.  "I'm an expert on hot."

  "So you're hot," she cooed.  "Here, this'll cool you down," she said, 
pouring the Jack Daniels on my crotch.

                ----------to be continued-------------

(I'm in Missoula this weekend.  Thanks to Jim Brill, who does freelance
work, for posting this for me.)