Naemanson was once again in that comforting state of confusion. "Forget about the girls!" he muttered to himself, "You're in trouble here." He sat down in the alley and shook his head. "I'm obviously having hallucinations when I'm seeing a cleigh possum with a blunderbuss." Still the sight jarred a memory fragment loose and it floated on the pool of his consciousness like a blob of scum. Where had he seen a cleigh possum before?
Suddenly it hit him. Spaw! That rat bastard he had known so many years ago used to hang out with a cleigh possum. It was rumored they were so much more than just friends! It was also rumored that Spaw worked for the CIA or the FBI or some such government agency. "From what I knew of him and the possum he could have been working for the ASPCA providing love lessons."
Still, Naemanson admitted to himself, when the chips were down so was Spaw. But there was no one better to have on your side. "Wish he was here," he muttered. "At least he'd be able to get this parachute harness off of me."
He staggered to his feet and drew his psaltery. There was only one way to deal with an hallucination and that was fight fire with fire. He set bow to strings, turned his back on the cleigh possum and marched out into the compound playing a lively march tune....