Raphael Lafferty: Hog-Belly Honey

“It’s no joke,” he say kind of fanatic like. “I have locked myself in a little broom closet, but they’re going to break down the door. What can I do?”

“Why, Maurice, just explain to those people that the folks nullified by the machine were no good for nothing because the machine don’t make mistakes.”

“I doubt that I can convince the parents and spouses and children of the nullified people of this. They’re after blood. They’re breaking down the door now, Spade. I hear them say they will hang me.”

“Tell them you won’t settle for anything less than a new rope, Maurice,” I tell him. That’s an old joke. I switch off the Voxo because Maurice is not making anything except gurgling noises which I cannot interpret.

A thing like that blow over real fast after they have already hang one guy for it and are satisfied. I am back in town and am rolling all those new ideas around in my head, like a bunch of rocks. But I’m not going to build the Hog-Belly Honey again. It is too logical for safety, and is a little before its time.

I am looking to get me another partner. Come into Grogley’s if you are interested. I show up there every hour or so. I want a guy as like me as two necks in one noose — what make me think of a thing like that? — a guy look like me and think like me and talk like me.

Just ask for Joe Spade.

But the one I hook onto for a new partner will have to be a fellow who understands me when the scuppers are down.