TALBOTT ON THE TRAIL: A Clem MacDougall Adventure, Take II.

II. A HIGH-LEVEL CONFERENCE.

Picking his way like a cat through wet grass, Clem MacDougall led his colleagues to a corner table, as far as he could get from the bar, beneath a giant stuffed moose head. As a bartender and tavernkeeper, Fox Huntzberger espoused discretion and confidentiality above all values, but in truth his gifts for eavesdropping and gossip were legend in and about Excelsior City. Huntz brought a fresh round of drinks, including a beer milkshake for Sly Talbott. MacDougall picked up the tab and added a generous tip.

"Now, Foxy," he said, "ye'll see we're no disturbed, won't ye? We have some delicate...ah...business tae discuss."

MacDougall, Doyle and Talbott followed Huntzberger's eyes to where Gorilla The Bouncer sat, guarding the door at the opposite end of the room. Huntz nodded in his direction and Gorilla responded by displaying the middle finger of his left hand. "There it is, gentlemen," Huntzberger said with a wink at MacDougall. "Your ironclad pledge of privacy from my personal chief of security."

MacDougall rapped the table for attention. "All right, lads, let's get cracking. Three heads are better than one, for sure and certain. Me own brain's just aboot burnt tae a cinder. Soppy, ye were startin' tae say something aboot intuition before we got caught up in the ceremony of Brother Talbott's arrival."

"Right. You were saying something about your grandmother -- how she seemed to know things she couldn't prove. Second sight. That's what you Scotties call it, eh?"

"Aye. Grannie Gordon had the second sight, my folks said. Most o' the time she was right on the mark. She could tell your fortune for the year simply by watchin' the light of the risin' sun strike the standin' stones of Callanish on Midsummer's Day."

"Just so, Mac. Intuition. Imagination is more important than knowledge, Einstein said. Drink up your drink, you old windbag, and tell us about this woman with the body of a whale and a voice like a steam calliope."

Sly Talbott darted a glance at Gorilla The Bouncer, who gestured once again his ironclad pledge of privacy. Talbott drained his beer milkshake and wiped his mouth on the tablecloth. "Will one of you guys tell me what the hell you're talkin' about?"

Three rounds of drinks later, Clem MacDougall again rapped the table. Huntzberger was busily stacking chairs on tables and generally hovering about, waiting for MacDougall & Co. to leave so he could close up for the night. Gorilla The Bouncer sprawled, yawned and scratched his masculine region delicately.

"Very well, gents," MacDougall said. "We have a plan. Let's get to it, then."

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