The Fugitive
"Well, not today, Michael. Looking for a chap named Daniel.
Has he been in the store today?" Oneal asked.
"I believe he was just here." Looking for a book by Manuel
Crikey. No that wasn't it. Maxwell! Book of Poetry. Faxed
His order in just this minute, see!" and handed the order
With gusto, as he liked thinking he was part of
An important police investigation. Pointing to the back corridor,
"You just missed him he headed that way! Darted off
Down the back stairs." "So he did not have the book then?
Inquired Oneal. "No we didn't have it on hand. Have to
Deliver it to his office when it comes in," returned Michael. "When?"
"Have it next week likely." "Did you talk with him about it?" "Cashew?
Eat 'em constantly. Love 'em," Michael blurted and held out a bowl.
"Go through them like mad. No can't say he talked about book the bless his soul."
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