An hour later, I found myself sitting on a train next to the lovely blue. Her name was, in fact, Shirley- Shirley Place. She disliked it when people she wasn't close to called her by her first name, and apparently she didn't get too close to men who tried to sell themselves to her. I can't imagine why she wouldn't like that kind of man. Women really are a mystery. But you know what? This is my narrative, and I'll call her whatever I like. How do you like them apples, Shirley?

Shirley and I were staring out the window at the passing buildings. Well, we were trying to, anyway. At the moment, the smog was either particularly bad or we were passing through a tunnel.

"Miss Place," I began, "exactly where are going again?"

She turned to me in irritation. "We're going to find the others," she said. "We'll get them together, and then we can solve the puzzle. How many times do I have to tell you this, Line?"

"I'm sorry," I replied. "I really don't mean to annoy you like this." I let a few moments pass before continuing. "So what's first on our agenda?"

"Get Bent," she replied.

I recoiled in shock. Shirley may have been a bit irritable, but that was no reason to insult me! "Excuse me?"

"We're going to get Bent," she replied. "He's closest to us."

"Oh," I said. I really felt like a square now. I started to feel a bit nervous. Who was Bent? Was he Shirley's boyfriend? Was he big, burly, and jealous? Was he an escaped serial killer? The closest thing to one of those I'd met was Toucan Sam, and he was just a cereal killer. "What's Bent like?" I asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.

"Bent is...well, he's bent," she replied. She had the loveliest accent. "I hope you're ok with that."

Ok with what? Was he famous or something? Was he the most commonly plastered face on America's Most Wanted? I was really worried now. "Oh, of course," I said. "I'm perfectly fine with it. I wish I were bent myself."

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Quite," she replied. "Just watch your back."

I shut up.

We arrived in an upbeat area of the city where the sun managed to shine despite the terrible pollution. Bent was apparently waiting for us near the local General Store, so Shirley and I headed toward it. I found myself growing more anxious with each step. Now, I'm not the type to run from a hairy situation, but if the barber is chasing me with his scissors, I can't really help myself. I really didn't want to meet this Bent guy, so I tried to linger at the train station a little bit. Shirley didn't like that, and confronted me about it.

"Why all the dilly-dally, Line?" she snapped. "We have to meet up with Bent."

"What's with the temper, Miss Place?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I lose it easily. Just hurry up, all right?"

I followed her in silence after that. A temper was a bad thing to Miss Place.

We eventually got to the General Store, and I looked around nervously for the beefy bodybuilder that was sure to be Bent. There wasn't anyone around that fit my mental description, so I started to relax. Maybe he wasn't coming after all.

"Bent!" cried Shirley, turning around with her arms open.

I froze. He was right behind me. There was no running now. He'd grab my neck and break it faster than a hymen on Prom Night. I turned slowly, ready to face my doom.

To my surprise, Shirley was hugging an ordinary guy. He looked somewhat like Shirley herself, but he wasn't so blue. In fact, he was more Green than anything else. You can always tell a Nader supporter when you see one.

"Shirley, darling!" he said. Bent sounded like anyone else. He was very normal. In fact, he was too normal. I looked around quickly, trying to catch a glimpse of the Mafia members that must be lurking around the corner somewhere.

"This is Detective A. Line," said Shirley, gesturing toward me. Bent reached out and shook my hand. "Line, this is Bent. You two can get to know each other for a moment. I need to go inside the store," she said.

"What do you need?" I asked. I didn't want to be left alone with this guy. There was something queer about him, and I didn't want to find out what it was.

"Food," replied Shirley.

"That's a bit vague," I said.

"Well, it is a General Store." With that, she walked away, leaving me alone with Bent.

Bent shuffled his feet. Was this a signal? Were the Mafia men going to shoot me now? I glanced from side to side, looking for movement.

"So," said Bent, "are you interested in Shirley?"

That was a loaded question, I was sure. "Not romantically, no," I lied.

Bent smiled shyly. Uh-oh. "Are you straight?" he asked.

Though my paranoia said that this was probably some secret Mafia code for "would you like to be skewered with a giant toothpick," my macho attitude took over. I was nothing if not a womanizer. "Of course I'm straight! I'm A. Line!"

Bent's smile faded. "Oh," he said. He went back to shuffling his feet. I didn't know what was wrong with the man, but he sure had an odd attitude. Just as I felt as if I should say something consoling, Shirley came back, holding a plastic bag reading, "Thanks."

"What'd you get?" I asked.

"Stuff," she replied. I didn't inquire further. She turned to Bent. "Are you ill, dear?" she asked. She glanced at me. "Did Line say something you didn't like?"

Bent smiled at her. "No, it's alright," he replied. "What's on our agenda?"

Shirley looked around in her purse, pulling out the to-do list. "It's time to find Bob," she said.

Bent groaned. "We have to talk to that square?" he asked. Shirley nodded. "Fine. But if he starts talking about my area again, I'm out."

Shirley laughed. "Don't worry, poppet," she said. "We'll find better men to talk about your area." They both laughed, and I couldn't help but feel as though I'd missed out on a joke.