As written by
W. T. Samsel.
It was a cold, wintery day outside as I sat behind my desk in my two-bit, cheesy office waiting for a phone to ring that lately, never seemed to. I sat staring blankly at the wall listening to the sultry sound of the sax player down the hall practicing for his next weekend’s gig. I was trying to decide if I should get up and fix myself another drink, or if I was quite comfortable right where I was.
Suddenly, my office door burst open and in strolled a beautiful blonde bombshell in a fancy evening dress that fit just right in just the right places. She stood there in her spiked heels looking utterly gorgeous and at the same time…dangerous.
I say dangerous because in her pretty little hand was a great big shiny .38 and the business end was pointing right in my face.
“Are you Charlie Danger?”
“That all depends baby.” I said. “What’s up with all the firepower?”
She looked at me with great, big, blue-green eyes.
“It’s a precaution Mr. Danger.”
Her voice was low and sexy.
“I’m extra precautious lately.” She said.
I gestured toward a chair. “Sit yourself down beautiful and maybe we can talk about it.”
Making sure to keep the barrel of that .38 pointing right in my face, she slowly seated herself down, crossing her legs. Those were some legs too, shaped just right and wrapped in nylon.
“I need your help Mr. Danger.” She purred. “But first I need to know if I can trust you.”
“Well, you can put away that pea-shooter baby.” I said as I lit up a cigarette. “And then you can start by givin’ me something to go on.”
She finally put the gun away in her purse and then switched her legs around.
“I’m talking extortion, high crimes, blackmail, slavery, treason and murder Mr. Danger. Are you up to it?”
“Look, I’m gonna level with you baby.” I said. “I’m just an out of work songwriter masquerading as a private dick but if you tell me what you got, I’ll help you if I can.”
“Look Danger, it has to do with Big Brother and secret government and a plot to bring down the entire United States and install a one-world government and a New World Order.”
She took a cigarette from a silver case, placed it in a long ebony cigarette holder and looked at me expectantly. I got up, came around the desk, struck a match and held it out to her as she lit up and puffed out a blue cloud of smoke that just sort of lingered in the air.
“You just said a mouthful baby, but you need to be more specific.” I said.
Her smile disappeared
“Sure thing Danger.” She said. “Have you tried driving anywhere lately?”
I looked at her quizzically.
“I’d like to baby but I can’t afford the extra gas.”
A blush of anger spread over her face.
“That’s just it Danger!”
She pointed a perfectly manicured forefinger at me. “You’re being ripped off. We’re all being ripped off. You an’ me and every other dumb sucker in this country!”
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know already baby.” I said.
“Have you noticed how you really can’t afford a god-damned thing anymore Danger? Ever wonder why you just keep busting your ass all the time and you wind up getting nowhere?”
I snuffed out my cigarette in one of them cheap, aluminum ashtrays I pick up from the local dives. “Look baby, why don’t you level with me?” I said.
Suddenly all the anger and emotion she’d been holding back seemed to burst out of her in one big gush.
“What’s the matter Danger? Don’t you get it? It’s all a part of the plan to bring us down! You, me and all of the little people . . . all of the decent, good, honest people out there Mr. Danger! Why? Because a bunch of dirty rotten rats can’t get enough and want it all!”
“Stop it baby, you’re breakin’ my heart.” I said as I sat back down in my chair and put my feet up on the desk. “Just how do I figure into the picture?”
She sat there lookin’ at me with those big blue bedroom eyes and smiled. “Word on the street has it that you’re an OK guy Danger. I hear you’re the kind of guy that won’t sit still for that kind of crap.”
There was something about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on . . . at least not from where I sat.
“OK baby.” I replied. “You win. I get seventy five bucks a day plus expenses.”
She reached into her purse, pulled out three crisp one hundred dollar bills and dropped ‘em on my desk.
“We’ll just call this a retainer.” She said.
She got up and headed for the door. She paused and smiled back at me seductively.
“You play your cards right mister and you might get a whole lot more.” She cooed. “I’ll be seein’ you.”
With that said, she walked out, the door slamming shut behind her. She was gone just like that. Still . . . the scent of her perfume lingered in the room.
And then all of a sudden, all hell broke loose!
Three bullets came slashing through the window behind me. I felt them buzz right past my head. One took out my desk lamp, the other two buried themselves in the wall.
And then, as if that weren’t enough, three more came whizzing through the glass of my office door and buried themselves in the front of my desk!
It seemed like things were starting off with a bang. Three from behind, three from the front. Two shooters. When the smoke and dust settled, I threw on my hat and coat and cautiously made my way to the street and my second-hand Nash convertible.
I made my way to the Flamingo Bar and Grill over on 46th street. The guy who ran the joint was a man named Joe who knew everything and everybody.
I parked the Nash and went inside where it was dark an’ smoky an’ full of fowl smells and lonely, down an’ out people buryin’ their sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. I stepped up to the bar and was greeted by the man himself.
“Hey Mr. Danger, you keepin’ ya dick wet?”
He was standin’ there polishing glasses with a filthy old towel.
“Sure thing Joe.”
“You want the usual Mr. Danger?”
“Yeah sure Joe.” I replied as I slid a ten spot on the bar in front of him. “Tell me Joe, what’s the word out on the street?”
He looked around to make sure nobody could overhear him and said, “Word is, Mr. Danger, that we’re all screwed. You, me and all the rest of them dupes out there! We’re screwed, blued and tattooed . . . and most of them dumb suckers don’t even know it!”
I took a sip of the scotch he handed me.
“That’s what I figured.” I replied.
“What’s it all about Mr. Danger?”
I pulled out a cigarette. Joe struck a match and held it out for me. I lit up.
“The usual bullshit Joe.” I said. “I just got a visit from a sexy dame packin’ a .38 an’ talking murder and mayhem. No sooner does she walk out the door than bullets start flyin’ through my office, all of ‘em lookin’ for me!”
“Was she a sexy looking blonde bombshell in a fancy evening dress with spiked heels and wavin’ around a long cigarette holder?”
“Bingo.” I said.
Joe smiled. “I can tell ya she’s with the People’s Revolutionary Underground. Word has it there’s a big price on her head. Homeland Security wants her bad.”
”This just keeps getting curiouser an’ curiouser.” I replied. I finished off my drink and slapped another ten bucks down on the bar. “Looks like it’s gonna get real interesting real fast.”
“You be careful Mr. Danger.” Said the bartender. “This is the big leagues an’ these guys play for keeps.”
“Danger is my name.” I said.
Then I turned and walked out of the joint.
I got in my car and started heading down 41st street. What was I lettin’ myself in for? What would I have to go through to get to the bottom of this case? The whole thing gave me the creeps. I didn’t like it one bit.
And then all of a sudden I heard that familiar, low, sexy voice coming from the back seat of my Nash.
“Don’t look now Mr. Danger, but we’re being followed.”
It was the sexy blonde bombshell in the fancy evening dress with the spiked heels and the long, cigarette holder.
“Fancy meetin’ you here baby.” I said casually. “Any idea who’s tailin’ us?”
She struck a match, lit up a cigarette and said, “It’s a car-load of fat, traitorous corporate CEO’s and bankers lookin’ to sell out this country.”
“You want I should lose ‘em?” I asked.
“No Mr. Danger. You just keep on driving the car. I’ll handle these scum-bags.”
Before I could say or do anything, there was a deafening roar as she fired the bazooka that she’d pulled from her purse. The shell took out my rear window, filling the car with smoke. It flew through the air, penetrated the other cars windshield and exploded, turning the vehicle into a blazing inferno!
“Serves the dirty bastards right.” She sighed as she stuffed the bazooka back into her purse. “Sorry about your window Mr. Danger. Just add it to your expenses.”
“It’s getting’ awful hot on this trail baby.” I said over my shoulder to her. “How about tellin’ me what gives?”
”I do Mr. Danger.” She purred in my ear. “And rather well I might add.”
That kind of talk started my temperature rising.
“Pull over here Mr. Danger, now!” she said with urgency.
I slammed on the brakes and ground the Nash to a halt. No sooner had I thrown the brake and killed the engine than I heard the back door slam.
She was gone.
It wasn’t quite what I expected.
So there I sat; on the side of the road, alone in my Nash with the rear window blown out. Her scent still lingered in the car as I sat there with no smokes and no leads. At that point I figured the best thing I could do was head back to my office.
When I got there I walked through my bullet-riddled door and stepped over the bloody corpse in the middle of the floor before I realized that it wasn’t there when I left.
I knelt down and turned over the body. This wasn’t just any old corpse. It was the bullet-riddled body of Thomas Jefferson and clutched in his cold, dead hand was the burned and tattered remains of the Constitution of the United States of America.
I froze there, stunned by what lay before me. Should I call the cops? No, that would just complicate things. There was only one thing to do. I gathered up some old newspapers and a roll of duct tape.
An hour later I had the body wrapped and secured so that I could lug it down the hall and out to the car. Accomplishing that without too much difficulty, I stuffed the body into the trunk. What little was left of the Constitution was hidden safely away in my office. I got in the car and headed off towards the landfill on the East side.
Later on that night, I was back at the Flamingo Bar and Grill standing at the bar talking to Joe.
“Back again so soon Mr. Danger?”
“Seen anything of the mystery woman?” I asked as Joe poured me another scotch.
“You mean the sexy lookin’ blonde bombshell with the fancy evening dress, spiked heels and a long cigarette holder?”
“That’s the one.” I said. “I’ve got to find her.”
He placed the drink on the bar in front of me.
“Are you sure you wanna get involved Mr. Danger?”
“I’m already in it up to my neck.” I said. “What gives?”
The man looked a little nervous to me. Sweat was breakin’ out on his forehead. He busied himself wiping the same spot on the bar, like it’d never come clean.
“You know . . . I been doin’ some thinkin’ about it.” He said. “What if she’s the one that tried to gun you down in your office? Who was in that car that she blew to smithereens? And how do you know it wasn’t her that whacked Jefferson?”
The look of surprise on my face stuck out like a flag on a pole. “How the hell do you know all that?”
“Let us just say I’m psychic.” He whispered, “Ain’t that why you shamuses all come to me with your questions?”
“Well I don’t like it Joe.” I said, “Somethin’ stinks.”
By the time I left the Flamingo, it was dark and cold and I was fallin’ down drunk. I made my way to my car and was about to slip the key into the lock when I heard a noise behind me and suddenly something smashed me in the head and my lights went out.
When I came to, I found myself enveloped within something soft and warm and moist. It turned out that I was tied and gagged and wrapped in a body-bag. The mystery lady was cutting me free from my wrappings. As far as I could tell, we were both in a garbage dumpster behind Lee’s Happy China Restaurant.
“How did you find me here?” I asked.
“Let’s just say I can smell trouble Mr. Danger.” She said in that sexy, low voice of hers. “And it looks like you got yourself in quite a fix.”
When we had finally extricated ourselves from the dumpster, we made our way over to her shiny new Hudson.
“You think you can stay out of trouble for the rest of the night Mr. Danger?” she said as she got in the car.
“Trouble is my business.” I told her.
Without another word, she took off and left me standin’ there so I made my way back to my Nash and drove home to my rented Airstream on a vacant lot on 45th street. One thing was sure. . . I needed another drink.
Once at my place, I poured myself that drink, splashed some cold water in my face and had a change of clothes. I rooted around in the refrigerator and found a ham sandwich that didn’t have too much mold on it. I turned on the television set and sat down in my armchair.
It was then that I noticed the bullet-riddled corpse lying in a pool of blood on the floor in the middle of the trailer.
I knelt down and turned over the body. It wasn’t just any old bullet-riddled corpse. I couldn’t believe what lay there in front of me. The bloody corpse on the floor was none other than that of Paul Revere!
Somebody had taken a machine gun to him. There was a bloody note clasped tightly in his hand. I pried it loose and read it. It gave me the creeps.
“Mr. Danger . . .One if by economic collapse, two if by false-flag terrorism.”
He had obviously been trying to warn me of something. Who had murdered the man? How does Revere’s note fit into the picture? What could it possibly have to do with my mysterious client?
How was I going to get rid of the body?
I immediately started looking around for old newspapers and duct tape. . .
Charlie Danger, Private Detective
Part Two . . .
After my second trip to the landfill, I headed back to my office. Maybe if I could fit together all the pieces of this puzzle, it just might begin making some kind of sense.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I managed to run over the guy that jumped from behind the bushes with a Thompson machine gun pointed at me. I felt the double thump as he went under the tires but I don’t think it hurt the car.
I parked the Nash and got out. That’s when I felt the Bowie knife whiz past my head so close that I’m sure it took some hair with it. I turned fast with my gun in hand but whoever had thrown the knife was gone.
I made it to the elevator without further incident. When the door opened, I stepped inside and pushed the button for the fifth floor. The elevator started to move and it was only then that I noticed the bloody, bullet-riddled body that lay crumpled and dead in the corner. I knelt down for a closer look. It wasn’t just any old corpse.
It was Betsy Ross!
She had obviously been tortured and bludgeoned to death before being shot multiple times with a high-powered automatic weapon.
She was not a pretty sight.
Just then, the elevator arrived at my floor. The little bell rang and the door opened. I had no choice but to leave her there. Somebody else would find her.
When I got to the office there was a surprise waiting for me. It was the blonde bombshell in the fancy evening dress with the spiked heels and a long cigarette holder.
“Just call me Bubbles.” She said seductively. “It’ll save you a lot of writing.”
“OK baby.” I said as I seated myself at my desk. “Why don’t you start by explaining to me who you are and what you want? I’m up to my neck in dead bodies and I don’t like it. And besides that, somebody’s trying awful hard to bump me off and I don’t like that either. It’s time to come clean sister because my patience is wearin’ thin!”
She looked at me with those great big beautiful eyes that could melt a man’s heart like an ice cream bar in a blast furnace.
“Keep your pants on Danger.” She purred. “The whole thing is too complicated. You’re in over your head. Besides, I’m afraid it’s too late.”
“It’s never too late baby.”
The explosion came as a complete surprise. One moment I was sitting there conversing with my client, and then suddenly I was flying backwards through the air as my desk exploded into a million tiny pieces! Fire, flame, smoke and debris flew everywhere for that brief moment.
And then everything went black.
When I finally came to . . . I seemed to be floating somehow in what looked to be a white cloud. I turned around and saw a middle aged man with long hair and wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Who are you?” I asked through the haze.
The man looked at me and smiled.
“Me name’s John.” He replied.
There was a rush of wind and a voice seemed to whisper, ‘Mary’ . . . and then the haze turned purple and a tall, thin black man appeared. He held a flaming electric guitar in his hands.
Before I could do or say anything else, the smoke cleared away and I found myself lying on the floor, covered with debris, in what used to be my office.
Everything was completely destroyed. I was lucky to be alive. And Bubbles was nowhere to be seen. Had she given me the slip again? Had she been blown to smithereens?
I couldn’t just lie around in the debris trying to figure it all out. I got up, dusted myself off and headed for my car.
To be continued . . .
Charlie Danger meets Thurlock Homes.
It was late at night when I finally got back to my rented Airstream on the vacant lot on 45th street. What with exploding offices, missing gorgeous bombshells and one hell of a headache, I wasn’t feeling quite up to par. You can imagine my surprise when I walked in the door and found a stranger sitting in my easy chair reading the late edition of the New York Times.
His dress was peculiar, he was smoking a pipe and when he spoke, I knew right off he was a Limey.
“You must be Charles Danger. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Thurlock Homes and I’ve come all the way from London on a matter of the utmost urgency.”
“Well I’m glad you made yourself right at home Mr. Homes, but how’s about you cut the chatter and get to the point, it’s been a bad day and it looks like it’s about to get worse.”
I took off what was left of my hat and coat and poured myself a drink. My curious trailer guest neatly folded the paper.
“Mr. Danger, according to these most recent reports, a miss Bubbles McGuire is being sought by your NYPD in connection to several murders and involvement in some classified international intrigue.”
I threw back a stiff belt of scotch and poured myself another one. “Seems like lately the bodies have been piling up since she showed up at my office.” I said. “And it seems somebody doesn’t want me snooping around either.”
“Her real name is Lady Eleanor Chittlesworth.” Replied Mr. Homes, “She slipped out of London three months ago after attempting to kill the Prime Minister, the Queen and several members of Parliament.”
“Sounds like a real nice kid.”
“A most interesting specimen, I assure you Mr. Danger.” Said Homes, “I am conducting my own private investigation in order to ascertain her motives and involvement in criminal conspiracy. I intend to bring her and her associates to justice.”
I swigged down some more scotch and lit up a cigarette.
“All I can tell you Mr. Homes, is that the lady is with the People’s Revolutionary Underground. Since she walked into my office, all hell has broken loose and there’s been several attempts on my life. All I know is that I took what’s left of the Constitution from Thomas Jefferson’s dead corpse and hid it in my office. Somebody blew up my office with me and Bubbles McGuire in it. When I came to, she was gone. I just barely got out alive.”
Homes was silent for a few moments, apparently in deep concentration. “That’s quite interesting Mr. Danger. Are you still in possession of the tattered Constitution?”
I drained off the last of the scotch. “Don’t sweat it Homes, Where I put it, nobodyll find it.”
“Excellent.” Said Homes. He stood, puffing on his pipe and handed me his card. “My associate, Doctor Flotsam, was unable to accompany me on this endeavor and so I suggest that the two of us team up in the execution of this investigation. I’ll be staying at the Waldork Asstoria. Please contact me there in the morning. Good evening to you sir.”
With that, Mr. Thurlock Homes stepped out of my Airstream and was gone, leaving me wondering just what I had gotten myself into and where this case would ultimately lead. A moment later, I’d fallen asleep.
It was early in the morning when I phoned over to the Waldork Asstoria to contact Mr. Thurlock Homes. We agreed to meet at noon at the Grungy Skillet, a greasy dive over on 33rd street. I locked up the Airstream, got in my Nash and headed for my office, or what was left of it.
I walked into the building and pushed the up button for the elevator. The doors opened and I looked first left and then right to see if I was bein’ tailed but there was nobody else around. I felt nervous, like a mild case of the jitters. I stepped into the elevator.
It was then that I saw the body. It was Thomas Paine with a copy of “Common Sense” stuffed down his throat! But that wasn’t all. Layin’ right next to him was none other than miss Bubbles McGuire alias Lady Eleanor Chittlesworth! She was out cold. And she had a gun in her hand.
I knelt down and slapped her in the face a few times.
“Come on, wake up baby. I wanna see how you’re gonna talk your way out of this one.” I said as she started coming to.
She held her head and blinked those big beautiful eyes a few times. “Oh, it’s you mister Danger.” She said, “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“Suppose you tell me.” I said as I helped her to her feet. “You got some explainin’ to do. Like this dead guy here.”
She looked down at the corpse on the floor.
“It’s Thomas Paine.” She said. “I didn’t kill him if that’s what you think.”
“I know you didn’t kill him.” I told her, “That’s a .38 you’re holding. This guy was stabbed to death with a butcher knife.”
I pointed to the butcher knife stuck in his chest.
“Not only that, but his skull was cracked with that bloody baseball bat over in the corner.”
I pointed to the bloody baseball bat over in the corner.
“He was also strangled to death with that rope that’s wrapped around his neck.”
I pointed to the rope.
“He also has a poison dart sticking out of his left thigh, an ice pick stuck in his back and a copy of the Patriot Act stuck in his ass . . . but a bullet hole there isn’t.”
She stashed the .38 in her purse.
“What are we going to do Mr. Danger?”
Just then the doors opened and we were on my floor.
“Just follow me baby and keep your mouth shut.” I said as I took her by the hand and together, we headed for my office.
Part Four . . .
There wasn’t much left of my office except charred ruins and splintered furniture but the floor was in tact and that was all I really cared about. I stepped over to the area behind what used to be my desk. I knelt down and pried up a loose floor board revealing the space where I had hidden what was left of the Constitution.
I crammed it into my pocket.
“Is that what I think it was?” Bubbles asked.
“Bubbles baby, it’s real important that I find somewhere else to hide this so I can keep it out of criminal hands.” I said.
“My name isn’t Bubbles, its Jane Cannary.”
“Oh yeah? Well I got a better name for you. From now on I’m gonna call you Calamity Jane!”
“I was just going to…”
“Never mind!” I said. “We have to get out of here and find somewhere to stash this document.”
“I’ve been trying to locate that document for the last three months.” She said. ”You know how many people have died to protect that piece of paper?”
Another voice came from behind us.
“It ain’t nothing but a God-damned piece of paper!”
We both turned around to face the three men in black suits and the three machine guns pointed at us.
The biggest and ugliest one said, “We’ve been after you both for quite some time now. There’s a lot of pissed off people in Washington that want you both dead.”
“You guys got it all backwards don’t you?” I said, “Aren’t you supposed to be upholding the law of the land?”
“You been watching too many Dragnet re-runs.” The ugly one replied, “What we’re gonna do is shoot you both so full of lead that it’ll take a forklift to pick you up off the floor.”
Like divine providence, at that very moment a hand grenade came flying through the window and landed on the floor right in the middle of our little gathering. The three goons took one look at the fizzing pineapple and scattered like roaches.
Jane and I jumped for the window just as the entire room exploded in a blast of fire, smoke and debris! Our four story fall seemed like slow motion but fortunately was broken by the obese couple that we happened to land on top of. We jumped up and started running for the parking lot where I stashed the Nash.
Unfortunately, when we got there, we found the Nash enveloped in flames.
“Come on Danger.” Said Jane, “My car is parked on the other side of the lot.”
Within minutes, we were in her shiny new Hudson driving down 37th street.
“I’m with the People’s Revolutionary Underground.” She was saying. “The whole thing is way too deep for me to go into now, but we’re trying to save the Constitution from those who would see it utterly destroyed. That’s why the government wants it so bad.”
“You saying that the government wants it so they can see it destroyed?”
“Look what they’ve done to it already.” She said. “That’s what the Patriot Act is all about.”
It was starting to make sense. All the pieces were starting to come together.
“That’s why it was shoved up Thomas Paine’s ass?”
She looked at me like I was stupid.
“If it’s left up to them, they’ll shove the Patriot Act up your ass, my ass and everybody else’s ass too.”
She looked at me again with big, green, pleading eyes.
“I need your help Mr. Danger. I need to know you’re on the right side . . . the side of Jefferson and Paine . . . the side of liberty and freedom. ”
There was just somethin’ about her and the way she had come clean with me all of a sudden that made me believe her story.
“OK baby, you win.” I said, “But we’re gonna need help and I think I know just the guy for the job.”
She cast me a look of concern.
“Are you sure he can be trusted?”
“I think this guy is on the up an’ up.” I answered, “Now look. It’s pretty near noon. I need for you to drop me off at the Grungy Skillet on 33rd street. I want you to lay low until one o’clock and then pick me up. You got that?”
She looked at me and smiled.
“Whatever you say, Charlie.”
I walked into the Grungy Skillet and sat down in a booth. A waitress with the word ‘Maggie’ emblazoned on her name tag came over and looked me up an’ down.
“What can I get for ya, handsome?”
She wore a pink and white striped outfit with a frilly white apron and hat.
“I don’t know baby.” I said, “What’s good?”
“Nothin’.” She replied.
“Then make it a burger an’ fries.”
“It’s your life.”
She scribbled the order on her pad and walked off.
Just then Thurlock Homes stepped through the door. He spotted me, walked over and slid into the booth.
“Happy to see you, Mr. Danger.” He said, “I trust you’ve had an interesting morning.”
“Quite so, Mr. Homes.” I said, “Thomas Pain has been murdered, my apartment has been blown up again and my car was set ablaze. Oh, and my life was threatened by three men in black suits with machine guns.”
“Exactly!” Homes cried, “Which means that you’re definitely on the right track! You’re investigation is making somebody very nervous. The game is afoot! You have retained what’s left of the Constitution?”
“Don’t worry about that, I got it right here on me.” I patted my jacket pocket. “That’s not all, there’s more, but first I gotta know whose side you’re on. I got to know if you’re workin’ for the government and if so, whose?”
For a moment, Homes appeared to be in another world of his own deep thought and then he struck a match and proceeded to light his pipe.
“My dear sir, I can assure you that I am an exceedingly private criminal investigator. During my career I have become painfully aware that the criminal element extends from the common to the elite, from the generally simple to the most highly ingenious.” Homes paused as he puffed on his pipe. “No Mr. Danger, the threat to mankind from the common thief and murderer is miniscule compared to that posed by the plotting of governments . . . and their overlords!”
“You sure said a mouthful, honey.”
I looked up to find Maggie standing there holding my burger and fries. She put the plate on the table in front of me and looked over at Homes.
“You want to place an order, or die of old age?”
“Perhaps some hot tea . . .” He replied.
“It’s your stomach.” She said as she scribbled on her pad, dropped the bill on the table and sauntered off.
“OK Thurlock, it’s like this.” I said in low tones, “I made contact with the girl. Her real name is Jane Cannary and I think she’s straight. She’s out to save the Constitution and the government’s tryin’ to rub her and anybody connected to her out. And that includes me.”
“Then by all means Mr. Danger, you must be sure to protect both her and the document.” Said Homes, “The plot thickens and I’m sure I detect the involvement of my arch enemy, Professor Moriachi, a man of pure evil genius! He’s a member of the Illuminati, a collection of the world’s ultra elite that are intent on the total dominance of all that is evil.”
“Looks like the both of us are workin’ on the same wavelength.” I said. “The girl’s going to pick me up at one o’clock, right outside this joint. You want to join us?”
“That would be most interesting.” Homes replied, “I dare say our cooperation may prove mutually beneficial.”
“Here’s ya tea.” Said Maggie. “Do ya want cream with that or do ya wanna sleep tonight?”
Part Five . . .
At one o’clock on the nose, Jane’s Hudson pulled up at the curb in front of the Grungy Skillet and Homes and I climbed in, me in the front and him in the back seat.
“Jane, this is the master detective, Thurlock Homes.” I said. “Thurlock, this Jane Cannary, alias Bubbles McGuire, alias Lady Eleanor Chittlesworth.”
“I would add that her distant ancestor was none other than Martha Jane Cannary, better known as Calamity Jane.” Replied Homes, “I am pleased to meet you Miss Cannary.”
“You mean? . . .”
“Enough with the introductions. Let’s get down to business.” Jane said as she handed me a crumpled piece of paper. “I found this stuck under my windshield wiper not twenty minutes ago.”
It was a note addressed to Bubbles McGuire.
‘Meat us behind the
abandoned emty warehouse on Wharf Warf Street on the Eest side at three o’clock or ellse we plugg John Adams.’
The note was signed;
‘be there bitch, sincerely, George and Dick.’
“Take a gander at this.” I said as I handed the note to Homes.
He inspected the note, holding it up to the sun light.
“This note is written on cotton based paper impregnated with polyvinyl alcohol, the same as used in the printing of money.” Said Homes. “Whoever wrote it is educationally deficient. In other words, an idiot. On the other hand, the one who signed it is of a particularly nasty disposition. I would say that it was sent by none other than your ex-President and ex-Vice President . . . George Bush and Dick Cheney!”
“Looks like things are heatin’ up.” I said.
“Head for Wharf Street baby, an’ step on it!”
In a flash, Jane had the Hudson turned around and on its way to the East side. At three o’clock sharp, we pulled up by the loading docks behind the warehouse.
“Wait here baby an’ keep the motor runnin’.” I said to Jane.
Cautiously, Homes an’ I stepped out of the car.
The place was certainly closed, shut down, unused. A few months ago the place would have been bustling but now all those people were out of work. Broke an’ idle, they’d be sittin’ around hopin’ that government stimulus would save ‘em, but they weren’t big or important enough like the banker and Wall Street boys or the corporate kingpins.
Suddenly a door squeaked open in front of us. Out stepped a clown wearin’ a cowboy hat an’ boots and one of them Western-style suits. He carried two big suitcases, one in each hand as he stepped over to where Homes an’ I stood.
“I’m garatificated to meet you Mr. Homes.” He said as he put down the suitcases. “And simularly to you Mr. Danger.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.” Replied Homes.
“Yew sure sound a lot like Tony Blair when yew tawk.” said Bush. Then he guffawed out loud.
“Your level of intelligence is indeed quite remarkable Mr. President.” Homes said as he offered his hand.
“Aw shucks, I’m truly impressified.” Replied Bush as he shook Homes’ hand. Then he shook his head an’ shrugged his shoulders and said. “I really feel regretulant that you boys are gonna have ta be dispossessed of. That is, lesson you each take one of these here suitcases. Each one’s got ten million big ones in it. They’re yours in ex-change for the girl an’ the paper.”
“You mean the Constitution?” I asked.
“It’s only a piece of paper!”
“Let me get this straight.” I said as I lit up a cigarette. I got right in his face and blew smoke in it. “You’re offering me ten mills to commit treason?”
It was at that very moment that a gruff, angry voice called out from behind the car.
“I’d take the offer, fuckhead, or get your fuckin’ face blown off with this fuckin’ shotgun!”
It was Dick Cheney, with a double barreled shotgun pointed right at our heads.
‘Make my day.” He said. “I just love shootin’ pricks like you in the face.”
Suddenly all hell broke loose!
My foot came up and intersected with Bush’s groin. He doubled over and I let him have a right uppercut to the jaw. At the same moment, Jane threw the car in reverse and stepped on it. Cheney’s gun went off harmlessly as the car thumped over him, bouncing as it went.
Bush had fallen over sideways into Homes, knocking him off his feet but Bush got up fast and went for a hideout pistol. I was quicker and gave him a right and a left and then another right!
Jane had flattened Cheney but he was still movin’ so she threw it in drive and hit the gas. The tires squealed and the car bounced violently as it passed over him again!
Homes got to his feet, grabbed both suitcases and ran over to the car. Opening the door, he threw them in the back seat. I gave Bush a swift knee in the stomach and then another right to the jaw that sent him flyin’ backwards to the concrete!
Jane blew the horn. I ran to the car and Homes an’ I jumped in. Jane hit the gas and we peeled out of there as fast as we could.
To Be Continued . . .