r and returned the favour.

The fates were with me again, and no two ways about it. I took home a ratty old
Oriental rug that on closer inspection was a 19th century hand-knotted Persian;
an upholstered Turkish footstool; a collection of hand-painted silk Hawaiiana
pillows and a carved Meerschaum pipe. Scott/Billy found the last for me, and it
cost me two dollars. I knew a collector who would pay thirty in an eye-blink,
and from then on, as far as I was concerned, Scott/Billy was a fellow craphound.

"You going to the auction tomorrow night?" I asked him at the checkout line.

"Wouldn't miss it," he said. He'd barely been able to contain his excitement
when I told him about the Thursday night auctions and the bargains to be had
there. He sure had the bug.

"Want to get together for dinner beforehand? The Rotterdam's got a good patio."

He did, and we did, and I had a glass of framboise that packed a hell of a kick
and tasted like fizzy raspberry lemonade; and doorstopper fries and a club
sandwich.

I had my nose in my glass when he kicked my ankle under the table. "Look at
that!"

It was Craphound in his van, cruising for a parking spot. The Lego village had
been joined by a whole postmodern spaceport on the roof, with a red-and-blue
castle, a football-sized flying saucer, and a clown's head with blinking eyes.

I went back to my drink and tried to get my appetite back.

"Was that an extee driving?"

"Yeah. Used to be a friend of mine."

"He's a picker?"

"Uh-huh." I turned back to my fries and tried to kill the subject.

"Do you know how he made his stake?"

"The chlorophyll thing, in Saudi Arabia."

"Sweet!" he said. "Very sweet. I've got a client who's got some secondary
patents from that one. What's he go after?"

"Oh, pretty much everything," I said, resigning myself to discussing the topic
after all. "But lately, the same as you -- cowboys and Injuns."

He laughed and smacked his knee. "Well, what do you know? What could he possibly
want with the stuff?"

"What do they want with any of it? He got started one day when we were cruising
the Muskokas," I said carefully, watching his face. "Found a trunk of old cowboy
things at a rummage sale. East Muskoka Volunteer Fire Department Ladies'
Auxiliary." I waited for him to shout or startle. He didn't.

"Yeah? A good find, I guess. Wish I'd made it."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I took a bite of my sandwich.

Scott continued. "I think abou