He was struck by a heart attack while writing on a new story at his home in Cambridge, Mass.

His unique sense of humor and his terrific dialogues will forever be a major inspiration.

My deepest thoughts go out to his wife and sons, Pearl and his friends.

Thank you, Robert, for what you shared with us.

You like stories featuring the supernatural - with midgets, ghosts, psychics, religious fanatics, Russian Mafiosi, tourists, and more of those kinda freaks, and a sexy babe holding things together?

Hallelujah! You’ve come to the right place.

No need to visit far away lands or distant planets where monsters are chasing magicians chasing dragons - or the other way around.

This is planet earth. Right here, in the middle of all insanity.

Enjoy!

But let us also remember and honor the fallen who since then have fought and given the ultimate sacrifice for that very same goal.

May their courage and strength forever be an example to us all.

R.I.P. 

Miami Beach Hot Shots (or whatever)  enjoying the sunshine, ice-cream and - the view.

Listen to this:

In spring time,

In spring time,

In spring time,

The only pretty ring time,

When birds do sing,

Hey ding-a-ding, ding,

Hey ding-a-ding, ding,

Sweet lovers love the spring.

And now this:

The more it snows (Tiddely pom),

The more it grows (Tidelly pom),

The more it goes (Tiddely pom),

On snowing.

And nobody knows (Tiddely pom),

How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),

How cold my toes (Tiddely pom),

Are growing.

These sensational pieces of poetry were created by the honorable Shakespeare (1st) and Pooh the bear (2nd).

Can anybody please explain to me why Pooh has not yet entered the list of world class literature?

For now I believe him to be the only one to be trusted - and that is worldwide.

Therefore I wish him strength, courage and wisdom for making the right choices both in picking his team and advisers and in leading the country away from the cliff.

I expected the guy to lock the car or maybe take something from the trunk, whatever – he was in no state to drive - but no - he got in, gave the two waiters another tip, turned the ignition and drove off. I sprinted over to our cab - the driver already had the engine running - jumped in and off we went.
“Follow car, Sir?”
“Yes, like I said, follow the damn car,” Sarge said, spitting out the window.
Traffic was light, making it easy to tail the Chrysler. At least that was what I thought. But the sot was slower than a turtle. And he couldn’t drive straight. He was constantly changing lanes which had the entire driveway honking like crazy. With all the noise he was causing, we practically could have gone shopping on another block, we’d never have lost him. On the other hand, if the cops would pick him up before he’d be able to deliver, we’d lose our only chance so far to find the gang. I prayed to Granny’s ghost to prevent that from happening.
Somehow we were lucky. Maybe Granny again, I don’t know.
As we drove past a building that looked like a giant had parked his binoculars on the sidewalk, the Chrysler suddenly came to an abrupt halt.
“Shit, we’re too close,“ Sarge said. “Pull back man, pull BACK!“
Too late. As the Chrysler set back, it bumped right into us, causing several hungry blood clots to trigger a series of hemorrhages inside our driver’s brain-pan.
But instead of checking out the damage he’d just caused to the cab, the sponge hit the gas with a vengeance, aiming for the garage as if nothing had happened. Probably lost his glasses, though. The car’s right fender had started scratching a nice abstract pattern on the concrete. Before I could even start to think of counting, three men in black, each sporting crew-cuts and dark sunglasses, sped out of the garage, tore the guy from behind the wheel and inside the building. After a minute or so one of the MIBs got back out and walked over to our resurrected cab man who by now had left the car and was calling for an entire flock of Asian goddesses to grant him revenge as he headed for the main entrance.
“Sorry Sir,“ the MIB said, using his tree-trunk fist to stop our cab man in mid-air. “You can’t get in.“
“But this motherfucker just wrecked my car!”
Funny how the first thing people learn about another language is the swearing. The guy was almost crying and pointing at his bumper. He probably would have stood a good chance at a B-movie audition. I was a little astonished, to say the least, by his reaction because I couldn’t remember the car even having a bumper. Sarge and I got out to check the damage for ourselves. I’d been wrong, it did have a bumper – that is, sort of. A chrome pipe screwed onto the grill was doing the job. And that’s what the Chrysler had hit. It definitely wasn’t the first time. A well dosed kick to the other end probably would have straightened out the piece of junk in a second.
“Calm down Sir,” the MIB said. “I saw what happened. That’s why I’m standing here in the goddamn heat offering you an appropriate amount to settle the problem.”
Eyeing the cab man as if he was some mindless alien vegetable, the MIB waved a huge stack of bills into the guy’s face. They quickly took care of the man’s tears. He grabbed the cash and his smile got wider the longer he counted the bills. From where we were standing it looked like it was more than enough to buy himself at least two more cars. His huge grin confirmed my guess.
“Very kind of you, Sir. This more than settles the matter,” he said bowing slightly, one hand holding the turban.
At least he was honest and didn’t ask for more.
“Fine, then we don’t have to fear any legal action from you, Sir?”
“No, of course not. I’ll continue my tour now. Bye Sir, and thanks again.”
“Nice to have done business with you, Sir. Please remove your car from the garage’s entrance now. We can’t have it blocked by a crashed cab.”
The MIB’s face had turned into ice again. I sure hoped he wasn’t part of the Russian gang. We’d be in big shit.
The cabdriver recounted the cash as he walked over to us, still smiling. We hurried back into the car and drove off.
“This is a verry scarry place,“ Nudjia said. “We shouldn’t come back herre.“
I watched the MIB through the back window as he stared after us. I guess she was right. It didn’t feel good at all.

Sarge had a different opinion on things: “Finally we know where they’re at, son,”  he said all excited.
“Where to now?” the driver asked, smiling in the rear view mirror.
I watched his neck. Fascinating. Hair everywhere. It crawled up from his back straight up the neck, only to disappear under the turban. It didn’t get to see daylight again until it sprouted out of his ears.
“Let’s get back to the apartment to make some plans for the next step,” Sarge said.
“110, Ocean Front Walk, please.”
“Wait a minute Sarge. I recall Tiko’s Dad talking about a mansion with a garden and a driveway. He didn’t mention any concrete binoculars.  Either we have the wrong guys or the wrong place. Driver, please stop the car. I want to get out,” I said.
“Please love, don’t go.“ Nudjia pleaded.
But I had to.
“I can’t stay with you now, Nudjia. We need to keep an eye on this place. Don’t worry, nothing will happen. There are too many people around.“
Then I said to Sarge: “I’ll stay and watch the MIBs  and the binoculars, you go and get the others or come pick me up later.”
“Damn good thinking, son. All right, if you think you can handle this alone, I’ll take your lady friend along so we’re two for directions when we return. We’ll be back as fast as we can, either to pick you up or to replace you. Here’s a mobile phone – in case you need to contact me. The home number is first on the list.”
“Thanks Sarge,” I said. Then to the driver: “Please take a right here and let me out.”
I kissed Nudjia goodbye, she lip synched “Take care love,”  - I promised to do so and off they drove.
As I watched the car getting lost in the traffic I tried to think of a way of staying undetected among the crowd while also keeping an eye on the binocular’s entrance.
Because of what happened when the sponge hit the concrete wall we knew that the main entrance had to be situated somewhere in the middle between the two lens-tubes. The second he hit the building the MIBs had poured out from behind the tubes, so there must have been doors to the sides. I didn’t see a café or anything else that could have served as a base, so I decided to just keep my distance from the building. I walked from store to store and used the reflecting shopping windows to check on the place. Nothing moved.
I got bored.
Suddenly Barbara Cartland’s twin, all pink and stuff but without the dog, poked her stick into my back saying: “Young boy, would you please be so kind as to help me cross the street?”.
She had this Martian gna gna gna - voice, you know, like in the movie. I felt sorry for her. She wouldn’t make it alone. I had to help her to the other side. Too much heavy traffic rolling by. But the next pedestrian crossing was half a block away. I hoped I wouldn’t miss out on a clue or something. As we walked over there I tried my best to look over my shoulder as often as I could without appearing too rude to the lady. It didn’t work out.
“What are you looking at, boy?” Miss Cartland said. “Waiting for your girlfriend? Take a lesson from an old lady. Don’t! Don’t show her your impatience. Girls love playing games, you know. She must be awfully pretty, the way you keep looking for her. But listen, boy. As I said, girls love the game. And it has nothing to do with brains. Stay out of reach from time to time, that way you’ll find yourself becoming more interesting.”
How the hell do I tell her to shut up? She had it all wrong anyway. But what was worse, she also distracted me from my mission. I needed to get rid of her fast but in a nice way.
Finally the crossing sign said ‘Go’, so we walked over to the side the binoculars were on. Good for Barbara, bad for me. We were so close I couldn’t watch the place without attracting attention. Just a small alley separated me from it. I needed to get back to the other side again.
Also by now Miss Cartland’s continuing blabber was really getting on my nerves.
“Look Lady, I helped you cross the street but, although it might not look like it, I’m very busy here and despite of what you think my girlfriend has nothing to do with it. Thanks for the advice, but with this I kindly ask you to shut up!”
“Oh, you’re so sexy when you get angry and confused. You little volcano, you….  The girl must be very happy with you. You’re not by any chance Italian are you? My poor husband was half Italian. Ooooh Italy, Ohhh Sooooole Miooooooo …..”
Oh my God, now she even started singing … People were interrupting their ratrace as we became the center of  attention - something I had tried to avoid at all cost.
Just then my eyes caught a glimpse of a huge silver car leaving the binoculars’ garage with a bang. Probably the exhaust pipe hitting the pavement. It quickly gained speed.
“Dear lady, sorry to interrupt your show, but I’ve got to go,” I said.
“Taxi, TAAAXIIIII!!!”
I had one stopping right in front of me, rushed in and said to the driver: “Follow that silver car, the one speeding away two blocks ahead.”
We drove off with screeching tires, causing people to shake their heads in discontent.
I was just able to overhear Miss Cartland’s last words. Clasping her hands in front of her face, she blabbered: “How wonderful youth can be, with all that raw passionate power.”
Had I been so unclear? How come grown-ups always misunderstood us?
But soon my thoughts got lost in the wind hitting me through the open window. This driver was good. There were just two or three cars between us and the silver brick. The cab man changed lanes constantly as not to draw too much attention. After all both cars were speeding considerably.
We had left Venice and were climbing the Hollywood Hills. I used the time to think. Suddenly I remembered I had just a dime left. And how could I be sure that we were chasing the right car? Maybe this one had nothing to do with it all. I had to call Sarge. He would know what to do. Maybe he could help me with the fare and tell Louis to drive over to check on the binoculars.
I decided to send Sarge a message telling him about the problem. A phone call would have given too much away to the driver.
Sarge replied instantly: “Don’t worry, kid. You’re doing great. Proceed as you think best. Once you got all the information you can get, tell the driver to bring you back here. We’ll take care of the fare.”
Good, I thought. At least I don’t have to worry about money. But was I doing the right thing? I didn’t know for sure.  No time to think anyhow. As I looked out of the window I noticed traffic had grown scarce. To avoid being spotted the driver kept a larger distance to the other car. We were approaching the mansions with gardens the size of small villages. I had never seen the likes of such. I thought of Lucy. She probably knew about the who’s who and which is whose in these parts of town.
After a while we were alone on the road. The silver car was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t like it.
The driver stopped the car.
“What now?” he asked.
“Let’s drive just a bit further - to the top of the hill. If we can’t see him from there, I guess we lost him. In that case, just take me back to Venice beach, Ocean Front Walk.”
We were driving again, but slower. As we approached the top of the hill, just by chance I watched a huge gate sliding into its lock, blocking the view. But that last split second was all I’d needed to glance at the huge driveway that led away from the gate. A second later and I wouldn’t have remarked a thing.
“Did you see that?” I asked the driver.
“See what? There’s nothing here. Or do you mean the gate over there? That mansion belongs to one of our best customers, an Eastern European businessman, abroad most of the time. His wife likes to party. She also rents part of the house to others. She often calls us to pick up guests.”
Not bad. And from what I’d seen the place resembled Wild Cloud’s description.
“Thanks,” I said. “But I guess it’s the wrong place. A shame we lost the other one, though. Well, doesn’t matter - shit happens. I have his number plates, I’ll get him the next time. Let’s drive over to Ocean Front Walk.”
I didn’t want to appear suspicious. You never know who knows who. Sarge had warned me not to give away even the tiniest part of our plans.
“Hope you don’t mind me asking dude, but why did we chase that car in the first place? And what do you need the number for?”
“Oh, never mind. My sister thought he was one of the movie stars whose autograph is still missing in her collection. She’s a bit too shy to ask so she sent me to do the dirty work.”
Lucky to’ve come up with that one.
“An expensive hobby your sister got there, gotta tell you that. Chasing ghosts might get you nowhere.”
“She sometimes sells some to other fans on ebay. With the money she makes she can hunt for new ones.”
“All right to me. People make their money in the strangest ways, nowadays.”
He seemed to believe me.  Good. I really didn’t want him to know what we had going on.

My friends came running out the door the moment we arrived at the apartment. They must have been staring at the street for hours. Louis was the most excited, almost trembling, waiting for me to spit out the news. Lucy looked a bit worried. She hadn’t heard from me for a long time so she’d probably imagined the most dreadful things happening to me. Nudjia embraced me the moment I got out of the cab. She had a few tears running down her face.
“Thank God you rreturned safely. The silence drrove me crrazy.  But I feel betterr now.”
She kissed me hard. Her lips were cold - I wanted more. Spooky eyed me from behind the glass door as if reading my thoughts.
“Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home. J.H.Payne in Clari, or the maid of Milan, opera 1823,” Quote said.
“Thank you very much for the ride,” Sarge said, as he payed the driver.
“He didn’t get the signature - but luck changes, you know. Don’t give up hope, boy! Here’s my card. I’ll get you a special rate next time.”
“Thanks man,” Louis said.
As the cab drove away, he turned and asked: “What signature?”
“Well, I had to come up with something, you know. To keep him from getting too nozy. It’s a long story, Louis. Let’s get inside so I can tell you all the news.”
We all sat down around the dining room table. At the end of the world the sun began its drowning routine. The warm colors were getting more intense and we could feel the romantic mood that came with it start spreading in the room.
I gave my friends a short version of the first part of my watch. I felt a bit ashamed for  my lack of observation skills and the mishap with Miss Cartland. I’d completely misjudged the situation. I never thought she’d turn into such a clog.
But as you already know, things turned out fine in the end anyhow. Besides, what counted was the result. Did I manage to find out enough about the sot and his team? Given the circumstances, I thought I had. Nobody cared about the Cartland part. So I carried on with my tale and after some ten more minutes, I finally got to the information everyone was waiting for.
“As we arrived at the top of the hill, I could just see this huge metal gate closing with a bang. The car was gone. Of course I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but I really do believe this was the one it entered. The cab man told me they’d often do tours to this address. When the owner is away on one of his frequent business trips, the wife has all kinds of people staying over and partying. Oh, I almost forgot; he also said that the guy is originally from Eastern Europe. Made his money with constructing pipelines in Russia and such. Since that was all he said and I didn’t see a way to gather more information without arousing suspicion, I then asked the man to drive me back here, like Sarge had told me. I just made up the story with the autographs to make it all look as harmless as possible.”
“You did a mighty fine job, son,” Sarge said, thinking loudly. “I think we have a hit here. What you just told us definitely has these guys’ foul smell to it. They are clever, I have to give them that. I bet they use these so called parties as a cover-up for their business. Not bad, not bad at all. But then, these sons of bitches don’t know nothing about us. That we came all the way over here to end their shit. But we need to be patient – and careful. We also need more assurance before we act. Just think of what would happen if we’d attack a house with the wrong party inside …. Apart from the embarrassment, with all these rich and famous people living in that neighborhood, most of their lives filled with lost time, word gets around faster than anywhere else. We would risk losing the effect of surprise for the real deal.”
You could tell Sarge definitely was in his element, judging the situation,planning. It really felt good having him with us. Even more so, now that we were getting closer – finally.
On the other hand, I also felt really good. The success of my mission, if only just partial, filled me with pride. Not just that I’d enjoyed doing it, observing people. I also thought I was quite gifted in the matter. I hope you don’t think me too smarty pants, but that was how I felt. I had managed to find out quite a few of the things we needed to know, even with that old lady in the way. So I guess you could say I had more or less succeeded.

As we entered the parking we saw a huge crowd sticking to the bus – almost like the flies to Midville’s monument. True, our’s was slightly different from the others. The bus that is -  the monument too, but I’ve already closed that chapter. The broken windows, the fixed roof. People obviously wondered who dared to take a ride in such a junk pipe. So everybody was satring at us as if we just got beamed down straight from the Planet of the Apes. Who else would willingly pay for a fare in this rolling tomb? But as we got closer they let us through anyhow.
Of course some threw jokes like: “Folks from the country on a day-trip, huh? Seen the zoo yet?”
As I turned to answer whoever had said that, they all kept silent.
Bad jokes, stupid people. We didn’t care. As soon as we were all inside we drove off straight to Venice and left the onlookers staring after us in a cloud of blue smoke.
“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me, Mae West in Peel me a Grape, 1975,” Quote said walking up to me as if on high heels while holding onto Sarge for balance. All in full battle dress! They were so funny everybody laughed out loud. They’d stayed inside their hiding place all the time and as far as I could tell, nobody had seen them.
I opened a window to let in some air. The cool wind blowing in my face made me feel good as it chased away the city’s stench. I could tell Spooky also loved the fresh air the way he looked up from Nudjia’s lap.
We were all so excited about what might be lying ahead that everybody blabbered about what we observed during the ride. I wouldn’t want to go as far as to say I’d started loving the city but there was so much to see. L.A. to me seemed like a huge magnet pulling the strangest people from all around the world right into the middle of its heart. What you made of it once you were inside was up to you. It was particularly striking as we drove by the beach. Bodybuilders with pumped up muscles like young Arnie in Conan the Barbarian, card-readers, a guy on skates playing his guitar, the amp on his back, rich ladies with pink doggies, babes with boobs, real and fakes in all kinds of sizes. Long live vanity.
As I watched all those people playing their show I couldn’t help but think of a book I devoured as a boy about ancient Rome. I was fascinated by its culture, the architecture, the sculptures, murals, everything. But that was just a boy’s first impression. At the time I didn’t know anything about the endless wars, the corruption, all the great civilizations (f.e. the Etruscan) they had destroyed so they could grow. Then, as I began delving deeper and deeper into Rome’s history and read about how its citizens grew wealthier and greedier and with that shaped their own downfall, I began to see the beauty from another perspective and got to know the fowl taste that came with it. I tried imagining the people who’d lived in Caligula’s or Nero’s times for instance. Life of the individual was worth less than nothing. No matter how high up the ladder of society you went, you could be accused of and killed for treason any second. At first sight everything looked wonderful, that is, if you belonged to the upper class. Parties, banquets, games and music everywhere, with the wildest ingredients in abandon. But at the same time, while you were stuffing your cheeks with the most delicious of fruits or enjoying some other worldly pleasure, you constantly had to pay attention to the others around you, who, just at the very moment, might be sawing at the feet of the very divan you were dining on.
I was shaken from my daydream by Nudjia pointing at a set of condominiums. We had arrived, Ocean Front Walk. Louis parked the bus next to the building’s side entrance. Speaking of Rome, this house looked like a mixture of modern concrete and steel architecture designed by some trendy architect, yet with a touch of Roman style. Not because of its lines or structures, nor its colors. It was most of all the classic appearance that reminded me of Rome’s beauty. I couldn’t pin it to anything in particular, just a feeling in my guts.
But it was definitely a wonderful building. Also the view of the beach was amazing. Nothing but ocean as far as I could see. Just waves, the sky, some clouds and the sun. No words can ever describe what I felt that moment.
We got out and walked over to the entrance. Louis pushed the buzzer next to a nameplate that read: H. Takayama. It sounded nice. The front door, simply a huge piece of glass as thick as my hand, opened with a silent whoosh. With Sarge and Quote in our midst to keep them out of sight, we entered the building. There was an elevator with late medieval trompd’oeil painting on its walls - I learned about architecture from the Italian history books I devoured as a kid. They used to be Grandpa’s but since he passed away I was the only one who took any notice of the family treasure.
Because the man lived on the first floor we took the stairs.
“Welcome, my fliends,” he said grinning over both ears as we arrived at his door.
He could have been an uncle of Who, a bit taller – and with hair. Sorry, just joking. To me Asians do differ from penguins. They don’t all look alike. Some look different. But they do smile a lot. This one smiled probably more than all Chinatown’s chefs combined. His smile was even bigger than his face. It practically crawled into the wall he was leaning on. He really was very friendly.
“Come, please do entel my humble appaltment. Can I get you anything to dlink?”
Humble was definitely an understatement. The living room and its window were as wide as the ocean. He opened the window to the side and showed us onto his balcony which was so large it even had a small stone garden. The view took our breath away. From up  here it even hit you harder than before. I felt like living a dream. We just watched the ocean in silence for several minutes.
Then, after having sucked in the magic for a while, we reentered the living room.
This guy definitely had taste. The dining table was just a single piece of polished dark wood, not round or square but in its original shape, put on four rather short black feet. It had chairs only on the wall’s side so that, sitting there you could fall asleep while watching the ocean. The walls to the table’s side ends were clad with drapes in different shades of red. The wall with the chairs had a huge abstract painting in red and mauve. Probably very expensive. Sarge and Quote kept to the back of the room to avoid being seen from outside.
The man himself was humble, though. Entirely dressed in loose black cotton he almost looked like a priest. He handed us each a plate with a colorful drink. Next to the glass was a small bowl with funny looking nuts. Tasted great though.
After a bit of small talk, he showed us to the rooms. We had to decide for ourselves which one to take.
“Thele’s just this one loom I ask you not to use. It’s whele I keep my instluments.“
An almost magical smell of wood escaped the room as he opened the door. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not only was there a grand piano in the middle, overlooking the ocean of course, but also a collection of seven to eight cellos standing to the wooden wall. Thin drapes kept out direct sunlight.
“Please take cale to keep the dool shut. My instluments need a constant level of humidity and tempelatule,” mister Takayama said grinning as in apology.
„I have been told that Wagner’s music is better than it sounds, Bill Nye in Mark Twain, Autobiography 1924,” Quote said.
“Ha ha ha,” mister Takayama shot back. “Good joke. I don’t palticulally like Wagnel eithel.”
There were two separate bathrooms, each in pale marble with huge mirrors over the twin sinks. The shower floor was filled with loose small stones for instant foot-massage. Spooky will probably have his fun hopping over the stones.
A suitcase stood waiting next to the entrance.
“I wish you a pleasant stay in my home. The cleaning lady comes once a week and it might be that my sistel, who is in the middle of the painful plocess of divolce, comes to visit fol a day ol two. Fol the lest you’le on youl own. If you have any questions, you can always leach me on my mobile phone ol ask the concielge - he lives next dool.”
“We don’t know how to thank you for this great a gift,” Louis said. “We will take care of your apartment as if it were our own. Thank you dear friend, thank you very much!”
“You’ll welcome,“ he said and a second later he was gone.
We all waved from the balcony as we watched the taxi speed around the corner.

It was all so incredible we needed a moment to let things sink in.
When we were done we went to fetch our stuff from the bus. Sarge and Quote stayed upstairs. We’d agreed to leave the guns in the trunk. They were much too heavy anyway. Nobody would take the trouble and break into our bus. Of course everyone was anxious to know who’d get the room with the view. Once back inside we dropped our bags by the door and waited for Louis to make the decision for us.
As he entered the apartment and saw us standing there, he burst out laughing and said: “You probably won’t mind if I take it?”
“O.k., no problem, I know you guys,” he said. “Everyone wants it. Here’s what we’ll do.”
He took some broken chopsticks from the kitchen table and cut all except one in even pieces.
“Here you go, pick one,” he said, offering Lucy the first choice. “Whoever gets the short one is the winner.”
Nudjia was last in line and guess what, she picked it. Man, she was happy.
She instantly threw herself onto Louis and dangling from his neck said: “Thank you Louis, thank you.”
“Hey pretty girl, don’t thank me, thank luck. Besides, I think you really deserve it.”
He was so right. After all that she’d been through it was time she had a special treat. Not that I’d forgotten about her misery, but it was over now, so I sort of locked it away. I prefer to hold on to the good times only. Mark and Lucy, Tiko, everyone congratulated her on the room. Nobody was jealous, not even Lucy.
She said: “You know what Nudjia, if not you, I really don’t know who else would have deserved that room. Honestly, I’m very happy you got it.”
But the other ones were beautiful too. Everybody was more than happy with what they got. We agreed to meet outside half an hour later so that we would all have enough time to put away our things and to wash up a bit.
“Come with me loverr,” Nudjia said as she took me by the hand and pulled me into the room. We lay down on the bed and just watched the ocean. The rythm of the sea made me want to fall asleep.
Lucy’s knocking ripped us out of the daydream: “Time to go shopping,” she sang.
The others were already waiting by the bus. Lucy had made a list. We needed everything. Fruit, vegetables, bread, cheese, water, wine, flour, eggs, oil, milk, cereals, coffee, the whole shebang. Louis drove us to a nearby mall. Running through the supermarket and emptying the shelves took us over an hour. In the end we had four carts filled with groceries. We also bought two cheap summer suits for Sarge and Quote. Anything was better than those uniforms they were wearing all the time. Also they desperately needed to be cleaned, the uniforms I mean. A good reason to persuade them to change into something different!

As we returned with all the groceries Lucy instantly started to make dinner. Did I ever mention she is the undisputed queen of pasta? Well, she is. Simply the best. From the moment she was able to stand on her own two feet she clung to Mom in the kitchen and helped out. With that good a teacher you get to learn each and every day.  As to me, I’d always prefered  the ice-cream parlor.
So there she was, doing what she does best: Pasta. First she put all the ingredients for the dough in a huge pot.
Then she called for help: “Hey Mark and Tiko, come give me a hand.”
“You want us to knead the dough?” Mark asked.
“Yeah. First take the wooden roller to flatten it and then use the noodle machine we just bought to make the ravioli. Don’t worry, it’s easy. You’ll see. And take your time. No need to rush. I still have to prepare the filling, o.k.?”
Wow, I thought, she bought a machine. That means we’re having pasta every day.
While Mark and Tiko started kneading, Lucy took care of the filling. She took a strong cheese, cut it into small pieces and mixed them with cut olives, basil and a bit of spinach. When she was done with that she started the sauce. A kilo of small tomatoes, more fresh basil, thyme, red onions, champignons. Just the look of all the vegetables made my mouth water.
“Is there something I can do?” I asked her.
“Yeah, sure Damon. You can chop the onions, but take care to make it thin slices, o.k.?”
“Sure, whatever you say, Lucy.”
The kitchen was hers. Like I said, she was the best and I would never dream of questioning her.
Spooky sat next to the trash-can, carefully eyeing our every move, waiting for whatever missed its gaping hole.
Nudjia took care of arranging the table while I, after having finished slicing the onions, opened a few bottles of wine. Then I used the empty noodle machine carton to build Spooky a new home. I put it near the terrace door so he could have the sun shining on his head whenever he wanted to. Louis had already taken a seat at the table’s end so he could oversee the action. But he was so tired he fell asleep soon after. I was surprised he’d held on that long. Anyone else would have collapsed long before that. His everlasting energy flow made me respect him even more.
But still I decided to wake him when Lucy was finished. You simply can’t let her pasta pass you by.
It was a wonderful evening. The meal was delicious and we ate, talked and laughed until way past midnight. I needn’t tell you that we slept like bears during wintertime.
The sun bursting through the drapes awoke me around nine. I got up. Careful not to disturb Nudjia, I took a quick shower, dressed, kissed Spooky on the nose, gave him  something to eat and went out to the sea. The water was calmer than the day before. And there were a lot less people around. A few were out swimming and further down some early-birds were getting ready for their baking session, leaving me enough space to think, relax and enjoy the silence. I’ve always loved the sound of the waves. I even taped it once back in Italy, when I visited Granny. It’s like a calming circle of song and motion, almost putting me in a trance. Sometimes it even frees me of my thoughts. The only sound being the never ending rhythm of the waves.