Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“Now folks, this here is Sally Sue. She won me in a roping contest. And let me tell you, she’s good. And that ain’t no bull.”

Oh, that Billy! Didn’t I say once before that Billy’s timing was incredible? Well, it didn’t fail him on the Ricardo Show. As soon as he said bull, Billy pulled two little horns from his pocket and Velcroed them to his head. After snorting cutely and pawing the floor, Billy was ready for roping. He pranced away from Sally Sue, then lowered his head and playfully charged her.

Remembering her voice lessons, Sally Sue swallowed the second half of a squeal. As Billy gamboled around the stage, she twirled the lasso masterfully, tossed it high in the air, and snagged Ricardo. That critter didn’t respond well to roping. The glance he gave Sally Sue as he threw her the rope was toxic. Poor Sally Sue lost her confidence and before Yvette removed her from the set, she had lassoed an overhead light, the zoom camera, and the show’s psychologist, Dr. Anna Floyd. All during Sally Sue’s disgrace, Billy pirouetted, do-si-doed, did the electric slide, and bunny-hopped all over the stage and down the aisle into the audience. His performance that day inspired the dance craze, The Billy.

When the applause finally died down, Dr. Anna Floyd, who, with her highlighted bob and supermodel figure, didn’t look like any doctor I ever went to, instantly proclaimed our diagnosis.

“A remarkable case,” she said. “It surpasses folie à deux, the abnormality in which two people perform acts they would never have done if they hadn’t met. Sally Sue, Ruth Anne, and Billy are engaged in folie à trois, a condition in which three people exploit one another’s weaknesses.”

Believing he had at last regained control of his show, Ricardo shoved the mike under the nose of a mild-looking woman in the audience who shouted, “Folie à deux to you too, Floyd. You’re the crazy one. Billy’s just fine.”

After some of the audience started dancing The Billy in the aisles, Ricardo quickly led into the phone-call segment of the show. The dancers sat down to applaud every pro-Billy caller. And there were many, their comments ranging from, “He’s adorable and cuddly,” to, “He’s worth every hair-pulling contest those two ever got into.”

That comment riled me. I raised my hand to attract Ricardo’s attention, but he ignored me. I wanted to tell the world that Sally Sue and I never pulled hair. We maintained our dignity throughout. I thought Billy would defend us but he just tugged at his cowlick and smirked. Oh, that Billy! He was loving every minute of the Billyfest. Sally Sue looked about to cry and I felt about ready to lose my parsley and prune breakfast.

An unlikely knight rode the telephone wires to our rescue.

“Hey, Ricardo,” rasped a gravelly voice. “I want to address my comments to Sally Sue and Ruth Anne.”

“Sure,” answered Ricardo. “Just give us your first name and where you’re from.”

“Just call me Bruno from the Bronx.”

“Okay, Bruno from the Bronx, talk to the girls.”

“They ain’t girls, Ricardo. They’re women.”

“Oh, sorry,” dimpled Ricardo.

“Ruth Anne and Sally Sue, I’m a sensitive, caring, nineties kind of guy and I am deeply disturbed that a creep like Billy should dominate you.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Sally Sue and I.

“You two should get on with your lives and I am in a profession that can help you do that.”

Dr. Anna Floyd looked threatened. “Psychology is the only profession that can help them, Bruno. Are you a therapist?”

Bruno chuckled. “You might say that, Doc. I do solve a lot of problems. Now back to Sally Sue and Ruth Anne. Women, my profession, the one I use on my tax returns, is elimination specialist.”

“Waste disposal?” queried Ricardo.

“Yeah, I waste a lot of people. And I could do a beautiful job on Billy. I wouldn’t even charge a fee. I’d do it for nothing for the sake of all the sensitive, caring, nineties kind of guys like me who are out here. Just say the word.”

The audience gasped, Ricardo froze, Billy choked, Dr. Anna Floyd sneezed, Sally Sue frowned, and I grinned.

“Well thanks, Bruno,” I said. “Let me think it over.”

“Sure,” he answered. “I ain’t the kind of guy to rush a lady.”

At that moment, Yvette ran out on the set and yelled, “Trace that call. The man made a terroristic threat on the phone.”

“I’m calling from a pay phone, mizz,” Bruno said. “Women, I’ll be in touch.”

And he was. When Sally Sue and I came home (Billy-less because Viewer magazine wanted to do a cover story on him) to our respective trailers, we each found a business card slipped under our door. The card read, “Bruno, Elimination Specialist, (609) 555-3201. Confidentiality insured.”