HUNG BY THE CHIMNEY WITH CARE :: Part Three

I went over to the booth, holding the Appletini in my left so I could keep my gun hand free. I knew what these two could do with pointed sticks.

"Martha, Neil," I said. "Nice night for knitting."

"ZanZan!" the handsome young man in an Andy Warhold fright wig said, holding up his work. "Look -- I'm making a ballgown in microfiber for my new Ken doll! And Martha's making a new Op Art sweater!"

The short, svelte woman seated next to him smiled and displayed something that looked like a wearable test pattern.

Knitters. "That's fabulous," I growled. "Now, what I really want to hear about is missing mimes."

"W-what?" Neil said, sagging behind his stockinette stitch. "W-why do you think we saw anything?"

I pointed at the sign over the bar: "CRAFT NIGHT TONITE: FREE MERKIN PATTERNS 6 - 10 PM."

"Oh, rats." Neil exchanged a resigned look with Martha. "All right -- it was just after Project Runway when this scary-looking transvestite burst through the door and kept yanking his shirt up to flash his six-pack. Normally I'm all in favor of that sort of thing, but his hair was almost the same color as his skin and his eyebrows looked like they were on marionette strings."

"Suddenly he leaped at Marcel, who was in the go-go cage doing his usual 'Mime Locked in a Box' routine, yanked him out and started doing overhead presses with him," Martha added. "Then he howled something about 'I'm coming, Joe!' grabbed another Marcel and dragged them out the door."

I frowned. "So why didn't either of you stop him?"

Neil clutched his needles in a death grip. "And lose our place in our knitting patterns? Are you on crack?"

"I do remember that he was wearing a funny sort of tank top," Martha offered. "It had a cowboy benchpressing a horse, if that helps."

As a lead, it was slimmer than Sarah Jessica Parker on Peruvian marching powder, but it was all I had. I tossed a couple of vintage knitting patterns on the table in thanks, then turned and headed out into the cold night, looking for the only Texas-themed gym on Fabulanna.

As I passed the alleyway that ran behind the bar, someone grabbed my arm. I cursed and spun, pulling the jerk into the open and bodyslamming him against the crumbling mauve brick of the Boom Boom Room.

"Ow," the tall man with the goatee said as he rubbed his shoulder. "That was a little melodramatic, wasn't it?"

I glared at Robbie. "You invaded my territorial bubble -- what did you expect?"

"Spare me the Milton Danvers quotes, pupcake," Robbie sniffed. "Especially since I'm trying to help you -- you're walking into a trap."