This morning there was a note pinned to the doorflap of the teepee. It read:
Nice try, but you’re only playing girlie-commando games. Okay so you nicked me, but I got clean away, and now I’m right here at your front door. Just letting you know.
Yours aye
“The Masked Cherokee”
I take the “Cherokee” thing with a pinch of salt – the guy obviously has a Wes Studi fixation. Anyhow he isn’t half as clever as he thinks. I was awake last night with a Bowie knife under my pillow, and could hear someone shoochling around outside. Also heard a twang and an “Ow, fuck! Oh bloody hell no. Ow!”
Consuela (my Tejana maid) is an expert in counter-insurgency; she had rigged the tripwires around the teepee to spring up after any intruder got close, and those on the most obvious exit route had been angled to pitch the intruder into a large patch of nettles. All we have to do now is enquire of all the local pharmacies if anyone has purchased a bulk amount of antihistamine. Tee hee hee.
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