EPILOG

   The story so far:  Von Wokker and the dame Marsha wanted me to work for 
them.  I took a week to decide.  Hell, I didn't need a week, I just couldn't 
resist the opportunity to make the old fart sweat blood for a week.  Also, the 
last episode and one thing and another had already taken up my share of the 
Friday bandwidth.

   All that remained was to haggle over the cut.  I did pretty well, since neither Von nor the blonde could figure out how to make a three-way cut total 
100%.  They had to rely on me for the arithmetic, and though I'm not a lawyer, neither did I foolishly give away my proper share, which came out to be 60%.  
At that, not as much as the parts markup at a dealer.  Also, I made them quit 
calling me Willy.

   "So what do we call you?" they both said in perfect unison, like dual carbs 
in an old 72 Bus I used to have.
   "Call me VEEDUB,"  I smiled, if you can call it a smile.  Really it looks 
more like the bottom side of a flat tire.  "Short for Very Esteemed Excellent 
Debonair Urbane Bwana."
   They both had the same look, unison appearance, you could say, like twins 
who have run out of gasoline two blocks from the station.
   "VEEDUB it shall be," they both said formally and in perfect unison, 
avoiding each other's eyes and mine too.

   I hate cute endings but I gotta tell it like it is.  Turns out our 
counterfeit "stolen" emblems were so much better quality than the originals
that VW is going to start using ours at the beginning of the year.  Five
year contract.  We're all tooled up and in production.  Dammit, we're
even rich.  I didn't think I could get rich other than opening a VW junkyard.

   Yeah, life is good.  More like retirement than anything.  Many's the evening 
Von Wokker and the blonde and I sit around till 3 A.M. playing skat and 
drinking the recommended blue coolant.  The only fly in the oilpan is that I 
can't seem to make it to first gear with the dame.  Maybe I oughtta take a bath 
like she keeps saying.