“Stop the presses,” Daisy said. “Elsie is a real guard, and she’s the one I chose.” She thumped herself on the chest. “I’m the one who has to spend all day with this guard person.” Another thump. “I’m the one who should be concerned about her qualifications.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a snap of her head. “I’m the one who is ultimately responsible for my personal safety. So I should have the last word in picking out my guard. And another thing. It would be hypocritical of me to discriminate against the elderly.”

“I’m the one paying the bill. And I’m the one losing sleep over it,” Steve said.

Elsie made a disgusted sound with her tongue. “Well, make up your minds if you want me. This isn’t the only security-guard job in town, you know. And I got better things to do than to stand here and watch you two argue. I gotta be home by six to see a TV show about blood pressure.”

Steve smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I don’t believe this. This is insane.” He looked at Daisy. “What is this woman going to do if someone threatens you?”

Elsie pulled a .45 magnum long-barrel out of her pocketbook and leveled it at Steve’s zipper. “I’d shoot him in the privates. Some people aim for the heart, some people like to gut-shoot a man, but I always aim for the privates. Word gets around when you shoot off a man’s privates. People get to be real careful of you. Yessir, I could blow a hole in you the size of a potato with this baby.”

“Holy cow!” Steve pushed Daisy behind a car. “Where’d you get that bazooka? And what are you doing carrying it around in your pocketbook?”

Elsie put the gun back in her purse and closed it with a firm snap. “Got it at a yard sale in the District,” Elsie said. “A woman’s got to protect herself. I’m an old lady, you know. It isn’t like I could give some pervert a karate chop.”

“It isn’t loaded, is it?”

“Of course it’s loaded, but you don’t have to worry. I know what I’m doing. You sure are a jumpy one,” she said to Steve.

“You have a license to carry a concealed weapon?”

“People keep asking me that. One of these days I’m going to have to look into it,” Elsie said.

Steve loosened his tie and popped the top button on his shirt. “I need a drink. Something cold that’s going to make me numb.”

“Drinking rots your liver,” Elsie told him. “And an ounce of alcohol kills a thousand brain cells.”

Steve thought it was pretty clear Elsie didn’t think he could afford to lose that many brain cells.