After nearly being run down in the street by a mysterious vehicle, I realized that there may be those who do not want to see my search for the Maltese Crow end in success. But I was left with a clue — the license plate of the car that tried to kill me. Now I must merely connect the plate to the owner, and a large piece of the mystery will fall into place. But first, I must venture into the most fearsome place I have yet visited: The Department of Motor Vehicles.
When I am finally admitted to the inner sanctum of the DMV, I describe to the clerk what I need and am shown into a small room in the back. I am soon joined by two mysterious gentlemen who wear no nametags and do not introduce themselves.
When I ask them how they know my name and how they know someone tried to run me over, the two men exchange a knowing smirk, as if they share a secret that they know I know they know and that I know they know I know they know, but that I don’t know what it is. Clearly these are not DMV employees; they have a much more sinister agenda than administering eye exams and collecting registration fees.
Are these the men from the car? Did they hire the men from the car? And where did they get those hats? They look a lot more expensive than mine.
I tell the men that I will think about it, and they let me leave with, offering a parting comment about the quality of the food in the Albuquerque prison system. The taunt is completely unnecessary; I have forgotten nothing about my stay in that Albuquerque prison, although I have certainly tried. Baffled, I return to my office. What is it about the Maltese Crow that makes everyone want it? And what’s the difference between a falcon and a crow? My secretary was supposed to print out the Wikipedia entries for each, but has not yet done so. Maybe it’s because everything has gone black and white and the Internet hasn’t been invented yet.
Suddenly the office buzzer rings. It’s the cat; she wants to come up and talk to me. Maybe she’s gotten wind that she has competition for my services and wants to make me a better offer. But I agreed to find the Crow for the cat, and that’s what I’ll do, even if those two thugs turn me in to the Albuquerque police; because I am Dennis the Vizsla, and I never give up.