The diner was almost empty. The small woman with the dark hair sat across a table from Jorge. Jorge was a bizarre mixture of folkie and right-wing reactionary. He enjoyed making the other folkies jumpy describing all of the ways he knew to kill people with musical instruments. Jorge had been a Marine Lieutenant in Vietnam, and had spent almost twenty years as a cop. He had a twisted mind.

"So you want me to take care of someone for you honey?" said Jorge. He fingered his longnecked Seeger banjo lovingly, a look of bloodlust in his eye.

She could see that this conversation was not going to be easy.

"Jorge," she said, "I've got a problem. I need some help. I tried to contact Blake Madison about it but I think he's got his hands pretty full right now." ("Or he wishes he did," she thought.) "I need some advice. I think there's someone who wants to harm me. Maybe even kill me and Flim Flam..."

"No problem honey, I'll take care of it. Just point the bastard out. Do you want it to be slow and painful, or quick and easy?" Jorge lingered almost wistfully over the words 'slow and painful'.

"No Jorge," she said, "I don't want you to kill him. Or even hurt him."

Jorge looked disappointed. He was almost salivating with anticipation. This was clearly a huge letdown. "Well, if you're sure... I can't hurt him, just a little bit? Scare him at least? Maybe give him the old 'bloodless castrator' pep talk?"

"No," she said. "This isn't for fun. It's serious."

"Well, ok honey, but it seems like a waste of my talents, don't you think? What can I do for you?"

She described the strange events of the previous weeks and explained that she wanted to find a way to convince the head PR man that she wasn't worth bothering with. She wanted him to know that harming her would cause more problems than it was worth.

"Well, shit. That's easy enough to do." said Jorge. "You got any pictures of this guy?"

"Yes," she said.

"What about his address and phone number?" asked Jorge.

"I've got his phone number and his e-mail address. I got them off the internet from a website for another music thing he's involved with."

"Well there you go, honey. Write down your concerns and the events as you've described them to me. Then put them, along with the guy's name, phone number, e-mail address, and picture, in a few safe places where the authorities will see them if something happens to you. Then let him know what you've done. Since he's a PR man, I'm willing to bet he'd rather avoid the kind of scrutiny he'll get if something happens to you and his name is the first one that comes up. But shit honey. Not even the bloodless castrator?"

She sighed. "No Jorge. Don't you have some work to do on the 'Folk Singer Flinger'? Or have you perfected the trajectory already? That trebuchet is a nice piece of work. Where were you thinking of flinging them?"

"Well now," he said. "Interesting you should bring that up. I was thinking maybe a nice big steaming vat of horse shit. But I don't know if I can find a vat big enough. Might have to settle for the river..."