True Detective Stories

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Fadac
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 01:11 AM

Seeds,Lots of seeds, there were Aseeds, and Bseeds. packages all over the place. This Stinky was into the pinky seeds. I pick up a package, it says:

BSEED or not to BSEED, Just Chuck them on the ground and rub them with your Kratzy Kat. (?) I don't know if you boil 'em or smoke 'em. So I dropped them.

Then I went to the fridge, looking for something for my head. Hey, Duff beer. So I pull one out, and pop the top. (Glug Glug) (Chug a glug)

I get a buzz on my belt. Wow! Great beer (burp!) The buzzing won't stop, oh shit, it's my pager.

I fumble around and find the pager. Press the button, and a message appears (alpha pager, ok?)

"Follow the tipper" was all it said.

Tipper? What to heck is a tipper, oh yeah, the stick thingie that you play the B O H - R A N with.

So I head for the door, at last a clue in this caper.

(Sort of reminds me of the old Bell case. Some ding dong copped all the copper clappers at the club, but that's another story.)

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Alice
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 01:53 AM

So, it's a tipper, eh, that's gonna crack this case? But wait, what if their spellcheck is WRONG! What if they really meant Tipster... or even.... TEE-play.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 03:02 AM

"No, ma'am," I said to the lady in red, "the tipper is just a clue. The tippler is gonna solve this case, and that's me...soon's I get sumpin to drink. Make my head work right: For some folks it's coffee; for me it's booze. Rot gut. White lightnin'. The hair of the dog..."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Ya don't hafta draw me a picture, no siree," she said in an accent I placed somewhere between Fargo and Spokane. "But what's the tipper got to do with it?" I pinpointed her accent: drive east to Oklahoma and make a left turn. Keep goin' 'til just before Canada. That's where I heard that accent. I was doing an FBI undercover in a militia compound outside of Butte. They were makin' plans to assassinate the Supremes, all nine of them--and I don't mean Diana Ross's old partners. I'd managed to get an invite to join when I sang "There Ain't No Flies on Me" in a bar in Butte called the Bar in Butte. They liked the song, particularly the verse that ends, "Daddy's in the Ku-Klux, and there ain't no flies on me."

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Alice
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 11:38 AM

(accent, what accent?) "If the clue isn't written in disappearing ink on the Bo-Ran, then it may be hidden inside a hollowed out core of the tipper," she calmly stated in a voice as smooth as any national tv news announcer. "You need to sober up, buddy," she advised. "My hands are full trying to round up all these loonies that keep moving to my state. I have no time to help you on this case, so keep your wits about you,'cause its a dangerous game you're playing. There are some serious woodworkers out there trying to build instruments. There is no telling the kinds of customizations they've done, working in secret from their backyard garages, or mountain cabins. Be careful picking up any packages you may find laying around... you've got to keep those lovely fingers for playing the guitar. Of course, it could have been tiplay, instead of tipper... I hear there is one of those over inMissoula " (That's pronounced Mizz-OO-la, Indian word for smokey valley.)

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Alice
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 12:12 PM

"There is a Gibson factory in Bozeman," commented the lady in red, "If it isn't too far out of your way, you might find a few locals willing to part with some inside information. Good luck. You have to watch out for those factory workers, though, the toxic fumes have fried some of their brain cells, not to mention what they smoke on their lunch breaks. The ones that have to spray the finish on mandolins are the worst. They're unpredictable." I could hear the silken whisper of her stockings as she stepped along the corridor and disappeared in the darkness. I heard the front door latch gently close, then silence. Would I ever see her again? What the hell. A dame is a dame, and I still had my hands full with two that both called themselves Baby. I had to get back on the case.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 02:23 PM

Alice, you got my weekend started with a good laugh. Thanks. (by the way, lately I've been drooling on instruments out of Montana, but they don't bear the Gibson name, although there is a Gibson connection: Weber mandolins) (of course, I continue to drool on banjos wherever I go: my current dream droolee is a TuBaPhone pot with a Stealth neck on it--"dream" means so far as I know it exists only in my dreams. I also, of course, drool into harmonicas, but only ones that I already own). --seed

I don't have time to continue the story now--besides, it's Leej's or Fadac's or Kat's or somebody else's turn. Sorry about the music digression in a BS thread. BS(eed)

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: WyoWoman
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 03:03 PM

My head ws beginning to get all muzzy inside, a familiar feeling from so long ago. Dropping the Aseeds, I could see, might not have been the best plan. I was coming on, in spades, trippin' like a tourist in downtown Katmandu, and I had not idea what neighborhood I had actually ended up in. Something about a BOH RAN and a tipple, or tipster and ... wait! I the distance, I could hear the slight warble of a tentative soprano. A familiar sound for a familar, if long ago, state of mind. Shuffling down the alley, my feet turned leaden by the slow-motion effects of the Aseeds, my head buzzing madly, chasing around in my head like a terrier trying to nip his own tail, I followed the sound and could, with all my concentration focused in its direction, make out the lyrics. I KNEW those lyrics. I had heard them so long ago: "Puff the Stupid Dragon, lived by a tree, And carried skin diseases, Including leprosy..."

I turned -- another alley. What a town -- all alleys, no streets -- and saw a rickety flight of stairs leading up the outside of a tumbled-down two-story building. The song was more insistent now:

"Puff the Stupid Dragon, Lived on a shelf, And nobody would play with him So he played with ....

I burst through the door. And saw her. Saw her in the flesh and in the black leather now. No hallucination, no side-trip. No, this time she was an actual part of the narrative:

"Mom? Mom! What on earth has happened to you?"

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Alice
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 03:14 PM

There was a strong smell of patchouli in the air, a scent that mom carried ever since the 60's, and the room was tapestried in old Indian print bedspreads. There were a couple of unopened packages on the table, wrapped in brown PAPER, string, and sealing wax. There was other fancy stuff, but a glance at the postmark gave me a jolt - Missoula - in a faint red ink.

"Far out, sonny, you're just in time to see my new Bo-Ran I ordered from a place in Montana."

"MOM! NO!" I rushed to grab her hand as she reached out with her gardening shears to cut the package strings....

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Alice
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 03:30 PM

... time stood still, the world seemed to move in slow motion. God started talkin' to me, while the India print fabric hanging from the ceiling melted in my brain. Could this be the trip where I finally got all the questions answered? Who was my real dad... since mom named me after the three rivers that formed the Missouri: Blake Gallatin Jefferson Madison. Who was the real Baby? Where do my lost socks go? Who left that damn cake out in the rain?

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 05:40 PM

And what happened to the Snowdens of yesteryear? And, of course, to tipple or not to tipple (we're talking tippling here and I'm king of the tipplers--I wouldn't know a tiple from Shinola)? The answer to that was obvious: to breathe or not to breathe, to think or not to think--there was no real question here except who hid the bottle? It couldn't have been Momma--she hasn't been on the thread long enough. It must have been Joe: He knew I had been getting some on the side, buying from strangers, trusting the streets, taking the big chance, going out on a limb, going down the road feeling bad, taking a chance on love, sitting on top of the world, watchin' that pretty little hand wave bye-bye as Smokey Joe pulled out of the station. I had to get some juice, quick, to counteract the Aseeds that had my head going around in circles. I wondered what would happen if I popped some of the BSeeds but there was still enough of my mind to push through what was on my mind (You were always on my mind, Alice--or was it Harpgirl or Barbara or Kat or SingsIrish or FairYoungmaid or PJ or KC and the Sunshine band or one of the other Barbaras or Alison or Helen--the drool was starting again and there wasn't even an openback with the fifth string disappearing just past the fifth fret in front of me, even speaking figuratively (speaking figuratively, what the hell ever happened to Baby--either of them). Anyway I needed a drink bad and Mom wasn't gonna help me get one so I kissed her on the cheek and stumbled back out into the alley lookin' for a neon coctail glass...

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: LEJ
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 06:08 PM

I stumbled out the balcony door onto the hot terazzo, staring straight up into the clear light of the sun. Mom caught me by the arm."Son," she said," I always told you not to look into the eyes of the Sun." "But Momma," I answered, "That's where the fun is!" I moved to the balcony rail, disturbing a flock of seagulls who burst off the sand down below, pelting the sky like a hailstorm in reverse. I jumped back from the pink lizard that was creeping along the rail toward me, then realized it was Mom's hand."Hold Still, Blake Gallatin!" She shouted. She spread my eyelids with her fingers."Wow!'" she exclaimed, mixing horror and admiration,"You are tripping your ass off!"

She smiled, then held up a strange object."Look, Blakey! It's not a bodhran at all! Somebody sent me a Gibson Tiple! I didn't even know they made them! Remember when I would sing you to sleep with this..." I watched her press down the A chord, forming the word "Puff" with her lips. "No!! Mom!!" With speed I never knew I possessed, my hands shot out, catching the tiple by the neck, flinging it out off the balcony. For a second, the tiple seemed suspended in mid air against the bright ocean backdrop. Then the sky exploded, knocking me backwards over the Weber kettle and into a pot full of geraniums. I crawled over to Mom. She was unconscious, but she had a pulse.

Now they had made it personal. Using Mom's American Express card, I booked a flight to Missoula Montana.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Alice
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 06:43 PM

That's, right, Missoula. One of those pockets of hippie culture left over from the baby-boom rebellion. Like the little towns of Hawaii (the Big Island), and places in the woods of northern California, Missoula had been caught in the curiouser and curiouser timewarp of delayed maturity. Like the hookah smoking caterpillar, I wondered if some old burned out philosophy or English lit professor at the U of M would be able to tell me... did the A-seed make me smaller and the B-seed make me larger, or did they cancel each other out? I felt like Alice down the rabbit hole, and nothing was as it seemed to be... not even Mom.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: LEJ
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 07:36 PM

Red's Bar was filled with the usual mixture of U of M students, raucous townies, and cowboys shooting pool. I sipped my whiskey and mulled over what I had found so far in Missoula. The package had come from the town post office with no return address, but the bartender at the Bayern Brewery had told me that there was a place on North Avenue where a musician made instruments by hand. I had snooped out the place. It smelled like varnish, and a dead end. The balding hippie who ran the place seemed far too vague, and too poor, to be involved in Murder or Money Laundering.I was draining my glass, when I felt something cold nudge the back of my neck."Are you ready to die?" A deep voice intoned."Not particularly."

"Then give me the five bucks you owe me." Booming laughter came from behind me. I turned and looked up at a 7 foot Cree Indian in a Stetson. "I'll be damned! Leon Gardipee!"

"How you doin homes," said Gardipee, pulling up the stool next to me. I thanked whatever Prankster Deity that had the guidance of my soul in his hands. Leon was an old friend who had worked both sides of the law in his time. He had been a Navy Seal in Nam, a Native Rights Activist, and the most skilled marijuana smuggler in Southwest Montana. If anybody could help me get to the bottom of this, it was Leon."Four Roses times two", I told the bartender.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Alice
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 08:31 PM

Leon gave me a sideways glance, sizing up my 1999 LA outfit, running the tapes in his head about the old time, the hard times, the times come again no more.

"You goin' soft, Blake old boy. I bet you're up here for that Gaelic language immersion class Tom Sullivan's puttin' on. Shit, ever since the PBS station made a haul on runnin' Riverdance twice a month, everybody's gone crazy over Bo-Rans and bagpipes. We've got a real Montana-Ireland connection goin here." Leon was disgusted, the sarcasm drippin' from his voice like the oil from an old International. I could see the old days were gone, and he had regrets. As much as everyone in Missoula tried to live in the past, they just couldn't keep Y2K from knockin' on the door.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: LEJ
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 08:45 PM

I told Leon the story. His eyebrows shot up when I mentioned Cosmo Gentry. " Good ol Jackie Papers," Leon said into his glass. "Tell me about him," I said. Leon settled back against the bar, his ostrich Tony Lamas blocking the entire walk way." Small time accountant type, worked for Fongoul in LA." "I know that much," I said."Used to get loaded at the Great Northern and talk too much. He was washing drug money here and in Boise and Spokane. Used to ski up at Fongoul's Lodge in Kalispell. Liked the good life just a leetle too much."He paused."You gonna pay me that 5 bucks?" I yanked my money clip out and gave him a tenner. "There it is,with interest."He smiled."You must be doing real good in the detective biz,BM. Where was I...so Little Jackie Papers decides to divert some of the dirty cash into a little investment of his own. Set up a little factory on North Ave making and shipping musical instruments. You buy a tiple from him, you get a little something extra. You get a pound of cocaine." He smiled and lit a Lucky, offering me one. "Go ahead. You still smoke right?"

Yeah. My second in the last 20 years." Leon asked me to go on with my story. He busted up laughing at my mention of Patchouli."You mean you played hide the salam with Crazy Carol and lived to tell it? She's Fongoul's #1 Hit Wench." It was all clearing up for me now; the big fog was lifting, but what I was seeing was scaring hell out of me."I'm sure he got wise to Papers and had Carol hit him." "But why try to kill Mom. That doesn't figure." Leon grinned."Blake. How well do you know your Mom anyway?"

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: WyoWoman
Date: 26 Jun 99 - 11:47 PM

This was not as simple a question as it might at first seem. The truth was, I didn't know Mom all that well. She had a habit of dropping into and out of my life like an out-of-bounds ball at a Lakers' game. Back when I was a kid, when the other kids were playing "Three Wishes" -- you know, the one that goes, "If you got three wishes, what would you wish for?" -- and all the other kids were wishing for cool clothes and bikes and all the money in the world, I was just wishing I could have a normal mother. This was before I realized that no one is normal. Still, there are orders of magnitude, and my mom was nowhere on the June Allyson scale.

Leon was sitting there, splayed out in his chair -- the only way he could sit in a chair -- looking at me with that quiet, contemplative soft-focus glance of his that looked deceptively nonchalant. I knew from his silence, and his quietly waiting for me to really think about the question, that he knew much more about my mom than he was letting on. Maybe even more than I did ...

"I know she wore her leathers everywhere," I said. "Even to bed. I know she always was looking over her shoulder. I know she would be missing in action for weeks, months at a time and I ....

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 27 Jun 99 - 12:17 AM

"I guess not all that well, Leon," I admitted. After all, I only had her word for it that she was my mother. I never knew my dad, so I couldn't ask him. And my birth certificate had a different name on it as my mother==Mom explained that saying she changed her name when she went into the witness protection program... Jeezus! Of course. She must have had all the connections, probably even the habit--she used to explain all those infections on the insides of her elbows and the backs of her knees as the result of blackberry scratches: She liked to pick "Blackberry Blossom," and she'd get in the mood by picking blackberries. She never did explain why the infections never hit the backs of her elbows or the fronts of her knees...but, shit, she was all the Mom I had and anybody who ain't got loyalty to his mom ain't worth pissin' on. Then something occured to me: Leon hadn't said which of the two Babys was Fongoul's hit-chick.

"Hey, Leon," I said, dragging my mind back to the subject at hand, "just which of the Babys I ran into is the hit-chick, anyway?"

"You mean there were two of them?" Leon looked puzzled.

"Yeah, two--although all I had implied was plural, not an exact number--are you keeping something from me, pal?" He looked at me as if he thought I didn't trust him, kind of pulled back into himself. "Shee-it, Leon," I assured him--I needed all the friends I had. "I was just gamin' you a bit, like old times."

"Always the kidder," he said, opening up a bit. "That's what always pissed me off about you. Always there with a joke, even when it was time to get dead serious about things." He thought a while, then got back to sortin' out Baby's, "The real Baby is a real babe," he said.

"Both of 'em were...one big difference, though, was cup size--the first had a nice pair in the key of C, while the other was triple E, we're talkin' Dolly Parton here."

"Okay, I can help you out here. The one with the EEE cups is--What the fuck?" His hand came from his neck with a dart between his finger and thumb. He looked at it, his mouth open, then tipped off his stool, hard. The place shook when his three hundred forty-five pounds hit the floor. I hit the floor and looked around--everyone was looking our way, but no one had a dart pistol, or even a blowgun. I took a look down at him and could see, even without checking for a pulse, that it hadn't been a tranquilizer in that dart...

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 27 Jun 99 - 03:26 AM

I don't remember everything that happened right after they killed Leon. I remember pulling the Beretta and firing a couple shots into the ceiling, I remember the plate glass window shattering, I remember the hardwood floor rushing up and smashing me on the forehead. And finally I remember being shaken out of a very deep and nasty sleep by a Montana cop. I told them that I didn't know the big Cree, that he had bought me a drink, a fight had started between the Indian and a redneck with a wood awl, I had pulled the gun to try and break it up. The Deputy told me what I already knew...Leon was dead, and I was a material witness, but they were not going to prosecute for the gunplay. My lawyer had already contacted them."My Freakin what!?" I shouted, before I could stop myself. I was free to go, but I was not to leave town, and they would be in touch with me at my room in the Holiday Inn.

Dawn was breaking as I walked out into the quiet Montana morning. I stood still for a minute, not knowing which way to turn. Danny was dead, Leon was dead, and somebody had sent my Mom a goddam exploding tiple. I had two Baby Gentrys on my hands. I had twenty seven bucks and no gun. But all signs were pointing to Fongoul. I laughed hard, feeling a throbbing pain in the back of my head. I still had a return ticket to LA. There were some people I needed to see- Fongoul, then Carol and Mrs.Gentry. And-yeah-it was time Mom and I had a heart to heart.Four hours later I was back in the City of Angels.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Fadac
Date: 27 Jun 99 - 03:05 PM

When I got to Mom's digs, she wasn't there. I could tell right away. The Harley was missing from the living room. Mom had one hell of a time ridding that thing up a flight of stairs, but at least here it was eiser than the old 4th floor ride up.

I decided to take a break, after riding around in that stupid Montana with cowboys jumping in from trains and all that crap, I was pooped. I figgured I'd just grab a Duff's and crap out on the couch for a bit.

I open the door to the 'fridge, and what do I see? Three cans of Duff's, half a Pizza, half gallon of milk, dated Feb. 1988 (don't want that), and a box of fried chicken.

Hmm, Duff's & the chicken, finger lick'n good. So I grabs the chicken & a couple of beers and head for the living room. I kick my shoes off and pop a top on Duff's number one. Take a big drink, then open up the box of chicken.

"Holy Sheep Shit!" This ain't chicken in this box! It's..;.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Peter T.
Date: 27 Jun 99 - 03:36 PM

Choose one: (1) Moose Turd Pie;
(2)Frozen Horse Turd on a Stick;
(3) The SnowCones of Yesteryear;
(4) Dragonbits.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: WyoWoman
Date: 27 Jun 99 - 06:04 PM

5. None of the above.

It was a stack of brand-new, crisp and shiny $1,000 bills. They looked freshly laundered.

Suddenly, I had a sinking feeling in my gut. could Mom be in on this money-laundering scheme? But if that was so, why had someone tried to kill her? And why had she left the house with this bundle of money in the fridge? And how much longer can this chapter get before someone starts fussing about how long it takes to load?

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: LEJ
Date: 27 Jun 99 - 06:09 PM

Under the Colonel Sanders wrappers were 6 packages of Wet Wipes and two pounds of pure uncut Cocaine. The grouch-powder had been packed in 4 white plastic wrappers, like 4 identical tubes of Jimmy Dean Whole Hog Spicy Sausage. One taste verified the claim stamped on the packages- 100% PURE. So this was how Mom was supplementing those Social Security Checks. I tossed all four tubes onto the coffee table aand took a deep pull at the Duff's.Looked like Mom was getting more than exploding tiples in the mail- she must be caught up in the Gentry scheme as well. I heard the rumble of a Springer Soft-tail as it pulled up in front of the apartment, and what sounded like a car door slamming. I left the Coke where it lay. The key turned in the lock, the door swung open. One look told me that the next five minutes were going to answer a lot of questions. There was Mom and Brunette Big-Bosomed Baby Gentry, followed closely by Blonde Baby Gentry and Fongoul. Blondie and Fongoul were holding Tec 9 pistols. Mom and Brunette were holding their hands in the air.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: LEJ
Date: 27 Jun 99 - 06:19 PM

(Sorry KC- Either option looks pretty good! Simultaneous postings make it a sticky bidness. Let's assume BOTH bills and Coke in the box. Everybody's in the room- GO!!)

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 28 Jun 99 - 03:16 AM

"Mommy's home!" snarled Fongoul, and he gave Mom a big shove onto the couch next to me. I made a slight move toward the gat in my pocket."Ah ah ah... that's a no-no, right Momma? Little boys shouldn't play with guns. Carol, go get the piece." Crazy Carol took the gun, then gave me a quick peck on the cheek."Still friends?" She smiled." I'd give you something else, but I'm just bashful I guess," said the fake Mrs. Gentry. Patchouli made a thick aura around her that you could nearly see." Give it to me," growled Fongoul. He had a voice like a Buick with a flat tire on a gravel road. He pointed my gun at the real Baby Gentry. "Go sit down wit your little friends."

"Now you are all gonna die, and I'm gonna tell you why, cause I don't like doin this crap without a reason. If I got a reason I like it. Course it aint as much fun for me as it is for Carol." I swear to God, Carol giggled like a schoolgirl at this and nudged Fongoul, like "gwan, quit yer kiddin." "Baby," said Fongoul, "your crime was two- timin me wit your husband. I know it was you talked him into this little scheme. He was a loyal employee for 12 years, and I hated to lose him. You, however, will be easy to replace.Mom's crime was getting involved on the distribution end of this little scheme. You shoulda stuck to Tupperware and tiples, Maw. And Blake, I don't know why you couldn't just let this thing go. You got Danny the Mick killed, you got poor old Leon killed, you still hung on like a bulldog with a bone.It's a shame.."

He slowly turned, pointing my gun at Crazy Carol. "And you, Honey, why you couldn't take care of a simple little thing like this without draggin me into it. NOBODY can know I was directly involved in one of these things, Carol. You know that." Carol was goggle-eyed, shaking her head no when Fongoul blasted her. I felt Mom and Baby tense against me as Fongoul raised the machine pistol. When the door burst in,it knocked Fongoul flat and the gun skidded across the hardwood floor. In an instant, Nesbitt was kneeling on Fongoul's spine with a .357 Magnum pressed against the back of his head, and the room was full of cops.

Nesbitt gave me a lift to my office."I can't believe you actually saved my life, Flatfoot, after spending the last decade making it miserable." Nesbitt glanced at me, then chuckled. "Believe me, Madison, I wasn't thinkin about you when I kicked in that door. I was thinkin about collaring the biggest bad guy in LA. I was a step behind you through this whole thing. At one point I thought you might be involved in the murder. However, I was sure that no matter how many wrong moves you made, you'd eventually stumble into the solution." Now I had no doubt,this guy was an unmitigated asshole. I got out in front of my office."Just remember, Madison. You owe me," said Nesbitt."Yeah, Lieutenant, like I said before you're a real prince." I walked toward the door."Oh, and Madison" said Nesbitt."Don't worry about your Mom. She turns State's evidence, she gets off with a hand-slap." I was speechless."Hey", he said, "I got a Mom too."

As he pulled away, I felt the first drops of dirty LA rain tap against the brim of my hat. Inside, the phone was ringing."Let it ring", I said aloud, and I headed towards Joe's for a drink.

The End

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Fadac
Date: 28 Jun 99 - 11:00 AM

Aw, the death of a thread. Such a sad thing, it was so sad when the great thread went down.

When we got to Joe's the Polka dancers had Polkaed them selves silly. Joe looked at me, and nodded to the little stage.

I got a couple fingers of Four Roses, went to the stage, sat down, picked up the old Sears and begun to strum the blues.

"I gots the Hoooooookkkkey Poooooookkkkey Bluuuuuuuuuueees. Down to my Hooooooookkkey Pooooooookkkey Shoooooooooooss".

Man, I tore their hearts out. Nobody could dance to that, The damn Bho-Ran was still, split, right up the middle.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 28 Jun 99 - 01:48 PM

LOL. Good one, Fadac. Better ending than mine.

Thanks to all the Amateur Mickey Spillanes and Agatha Christie who made this a fun thread. When we sell the movie rights, you'll all get your fair share.

LEJ

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 28 Jun 99 - 04:47 PM

Leej, it was a pleasure, indeed. I almost posted an ending last night--mine, too, would have had Nesbitt busting in, but yours is much better than what I had in mind. And Fadac's denoument, well, what can I say? Hokey pokey lives! --seed

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: WyoWoman
Date: 28 Jun 99 - 11:35 PM

Epilogue:

And all the contributing Mudcatters got a humongous movie deal and instead of splitting the proceeds, they put them into a travel account, so anytime there was a festival or a really cool jam anywhere on the planet, they could all jump in some kind of transportation and meet there for fun, frolic and some awesome Hokey Pokey!

The Really, Probably, Most Likely End....

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 12:03 AM

Sure glad that is the only posting from Fongoul...uuggghhh! Anybody got a bar a soap??

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 02:12 AM

Post-epilogue-

Blake told me this. It was in the TopHat Tavern on Colfax Avenue in Denver. I hadn't seen him since he and I and Leon were roomates at Montana State University back in the 70s. It was me that brought up Leon Gardipee, and when Blake got tears in his eyes I figured that nostalgia had linked up with the whiskey and been too much for him I asked him when he had last seen Leon, and reminded him about the five bucks he had borrowed."You ever pay him back?"I grinned.

Blake smiled. "yeah I did. Funny about that. I shouldn't have, cause Leon always said I'd be owing him that Five Dollars the rest of his life." Blake was staring at the rocks in his bourbon like he was trying to find an answer there." You know I've got this old photograph of Leon with his volkswagen. He's sitting in it with his head sticking out the sunroof and a big smile on his face. Remember he used to drive around Bozeman like that, sunglasses on and a cigar clamped in his teeth. He was larger than life, was Leon." Blake laid a 20 dollar bill down to cover the drinks." I kinda figured he'd live forever," he said.

"What happened?", I said, dread seeping up in my soul.

"I got him killed, E." He smiled, but the moisture was still there in his eyes. "You just thank your stars that you saw Blake Madison again, and lived to tell about it." He gave me a last look. I had the impression he was raising a pane of bullet-proof glass over his eyes, and then he didn't seem to see me at all.He turned and walked out of the joint, and I never saw him again.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 02:37 AM

Leej, the perfect epilogue (sorry I killed off Leon: he was a good guy)--and Kat, you're bummed by Fongoul--that's my house he's describing, down to the street number, and a bit of my life he's describing (actually, I've posted both in various threads--but the guy actually has been by here: I live just south of Potrero Avenue and a block from Castro School, just up Gladys from me). By the way, if any of my postings chased you away from the story, I'm sorry. I tried to maintain the tone, but I may have gotten a bit over the edge in a couple of them. --seed

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 02:51 AM

Seed- you did great.And I enjoyed the Fongoul post, except I thought it was Gargoyle because of the grit in it.

And hey, it was Leon's time.

LEJ

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Fadac
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 10:05 AM

Ah, gots da bluuuuuuuuuueeesssss, 'cus it's over baaaaaaby, No Mo Hoooooooooookey Poooooooooookey fer me...(oh yeah) I's a gots da bluuuuuuuuuuuuuueessss.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Fadac
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 10:07 AM

[FADE TO BLACK] [ROLL CREDIIS]

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: WyoWoman
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 10:12 AM

I didn't take the Fangoul thaing personal-like. I figured someone was just really staying in character. (I always try to stay in character, but sometimes ...)

KC

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Peter T.
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 11:01 AM

I got interested in darker versions of these stories, just to upend the conventions, so here is one for this!!
WARNING: SAD EPILOGUE ALTERNATIVE COMING!!

And then it was late.
"Is it too late for us, Baby?" I asked, pouring her another drink.
"I'll tell you what, Blake. Nice name, Blake, by the way. Reminds me of the poet."
"Madison remind you of anyone?"
"President, right?"
"Right, Baby."
"Well, if he doesn't appear on any small or medium sized money, I don't know anything about him."
"What happened to you, Baby? You're a smart girl, beautiful, but you sure are connected to a lot of dismal men."
"I tell you what, Blake. Parting gift. It's like this. When I was a little girl, you know, back in wherever it was, my father and my mother used to fight all the time, like hell, all the time, you know."
"Yeah, I know."
"Well, when you're a kid you think, well, you think it's your fault, or you should be able to do something about it." She looked at me, with those violet eyes. "You think you should be able to do something about it." She was starting to cry.
"So, Baby, so what did you do?"
"So, what I did was -- sorry. So when he hit me I used to let him do it. It was like I was some kind of absorbent cotton. You know, the hunks of fluffy stuff you make sheep out of in Sunday school. Like I could absorb all his hate just by standing there, just letting him take it out on me. I used to let him do it. Bang, bang, he'd hit me, and I'd suck it in. I thought I could make it all right. I'd take the hate, and they would love each other, and me, and we would all love each other. You know, magic, kid's stuff. Poof, the world is beautiful." She held her drink in her hand, feeling the roundness of the glass.
"Remember, Blake, how you asked me once, a long time ago, about suffering --"
"Yeah, sure, Baby, a lifetime ago."
"Well that's what I was there for. To make it all go away. That was my role, my magic. So when I grew up, I just carried on, you know."
If there was music playing somewhere, it wasn't nice music.
"The thing is, Blake, there's a lot of hate in the world, a lot of good things that people are just trying to fuck up. It's like love -- you start something, it goes along for awhile, and then, who knows --"
"Entropy?"
"Huh?"
I looked at her. "Everything unravels unless you work at it, and even then ---"
She smiled ruefully. "Well, you've been there, Blake, I can tell."
It was even later than I thought. She reached over for her purse. She was getting ready to go. "So when I w

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Peter T.
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 11:10 AM

It was even later than I thought. She reached over for her purse. She was getting ready to go.
"So when I went on the street -- yeah, I went on the street -- that was what I tried to think. Here I am, the Sunday school sheep, dabbing up all the mudpuddles, all the fuckedup sadness of all these fuckedup men. Stupid, really. I was the fuckedup one."
She struggled to open her purse to check to see if she had enough money to get wherever it was she was going. I waved some of her own money, the stuff she had given me earlier; but she shook her head.
I took another sip of my Scotch, trying to think of how to keep her from going. All I could think of was: "As Holden Caulfield used to say, you could scrape forever and you could still never get rid of all the FUCK YOUs written on all the walls of the world."
She nodded, got up from her barstool and turned to me. "Anyway, Blake, that was a long way round to a kind of goodbye. You're sweet, and we've had a lot of laughs, but I am all absorbed up. I can't take your pain, and I can't mend your threads. No fluff left, I'm afraid."
I gave her a look that I hoped said how much I understood. She was alright, was Baby Gentry. Perhaps in another time, and another place, it would have worked out. Perhaps not. She reached over and kissed me, once, on the mouth.
"Sorry", she said, "I taste like the salt on a margarita, without the margarita."
I said I didn't mind. She walked a little unsteadily to the door. I saw her silhouetted briefly in the dire purple glow from the flashing sign across the street. For a moment, it was as if she had become a neon angel at the gates of some kind of Paradise Betrayed.
And then she was gone forever.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 02:12 PM

Peter, that's kind of what I figured, too, after I thought about it a bit...as I said, all the information was in the threads: Do a thread search on BSeed and it's all there, except, of course, for the neighborhood data, and I'm sure there's a map of El Cerrito somewhere on the web, or on some CD.

I was moved by Baby's goodbye--it's too true, and beautifully done, by the way. You're a good writer, Peter m'lad (if you'd only get it that it's "all right," not "alright"--it even sounds better, there in the subvocalization centers of the brain).

And Gar--I really do grok you, although I have my doubts about your grasp of the concept. And humor is a two-way street. I just zapped you with what you used to zing me.

--seed

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: Peter T.
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 04:15 PM

seed...
You are of course right, stupid mistake. When we do Blake Madison, Language Detective, all degenerates will get "all right" all wrong. Actually....

At the end of the struggle, Blake came up with the gun. He and Nesbit stood up. Blake put the gun up against the gangster's head.
"O.K., you bastard, you get to choose. Which is it, 'priorize' or 'prioritize'?" If you get it wrong, you die."
Doubt flickered across the gangster's face, then fear.
"Uh.....'prioritize!"
Blake pulled the trigger.
Out in the sunlight as they walked away, Nesbit turned to him and said: "Priorize is right?"
Blake replied: "No, they both suck."
Yours, Peter T.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: LEJ
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 04:49 PM

Peter- Very intense. I enjoyed that. Somehow the characters in this goofy little thread fleshed out, didn't they?

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 29 Jun 99 - 07:19 PM

It was a blast--the very 'Catness of the whole tale. I was enjoying the animal nurse tale, too, but couldn't drag myself away from this one before what's'er-name disappeared. What's next, Leej, Peter, Alice, Fadac, KC, Gargoyle, Kat, Dave--a tale of the sea? Mudstock at the Overlook Hotel? Robin Hoot (that was a typo, but I like it) and his Merry Mudders? How about those of you of the Irish persuasion spreadin' a bit o' the blarney? Or "Crocodile Dundee and the Tiple Plague"? Or "Samurai Bluesman," Takeo? --seed

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 30 Jun 99 - 12:36 AM

Bseed: no prob. (I, too, thought it was probably Gargoyle.)I wasn't bummed, just remembering some of the True Detective stories I'd read, when younger, and not remembering too much in the way of language, so I was expecting us all to stay more in the vein of Philip Marlowe. The only thing that really bothered me was the racial slurs, but, of course, they were in character. It's the Pollyanna in me, what can I say? Sorry. And, you are a damn fine writer, too, ya know?!!

BTW: any of the above suggestions sound great to me. Let's do it!

kat

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: WyoWoman
Date: 30 Jun 99 - 12:51 AM

I like Robin Hoot and Mate Marion. It could be a tale of the sea...

kc

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: LEJ
Date: 30 Jun 99 - 12:57 AM

I think the Sea Story idea is great...kind of Nordhoff and Hall meet Melville, ghost-written by Jack London. What made this thread fun, was that a plot developed that made some kind of sense. I got a kick out of Folk Nurse, but that was totally blotto. Maybe declare some very basic plot line, and theme. Cause if you dont have a Thieme, it just aint Art. Also the simultaneous postings get very tricky... but that's part of the fun, I think. Whatever we do, we better quit posting on this enormous iceberg of a thread before we slash the hull of our best intentions, and send all our computers to Davy Jones. In fact it is taking about the same time to load this bad boy as it took the Titanic to sink after the wreck. I declare this thread officially closed until such time as one of you guys starts a True Something Stories.

LEJ

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 30 Jun 99 - 02:16 AM

Ya know, guys, you can get to the end of a long thread quickly by clicking "Sort Descending" up in the upper left, next to "Post to This Thread."

Thanks, Kat, for the kind words. I'm not too sure about writing convincingly of the sea, however (maybe I'll contribute a sea monster). Fadac can give us the sailing verisimilitude.

Oh, here's an idea: a tramp steamer in the '50s, with a few passengers on board, bound for Indonesia or some such place. The passengers would be characters that could be developed by landlubbers like me. We could make it nice and claustrophobic: tiny compartments, storms, mechanical and electronic failures, kind of a seabound "And Then There Were None" --seed

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: gargoyle
Date: 30 Jun 99 - 01:01 PM

Sorry, my most honored and righteous Mr. Seed.Its already been done.

Ship of Fools by Katherine Porter 1962 and made into a film 1965. It is an allegory of this century.

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 30 Jun 99 - 10:34 PM

Go for it, BSeed! Gargoyle....it hasn't been done by Mudcateers! If we all rejected an idea because it's already been done, writers like me wouldn't ever write anything!

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: gargoyle
Date: 01 Jul 99 - 01:58 AM

In a loose paraphrase of a noted Englishman, "It is better to be thought a fool than to place one's pen to the page and remove all doubt."

In the interest of keeping this thread within the lines of the MC music> base, the following is contributed under the generous and syphlitic Mr. Seed's suggestion to launch a "Ship of Fools."

Went to see the captain, strangest I could find, laid my proposition down, laid it on the line. I won't slave for beggar's pay, likewise gold and jewels, but I would slave to learn the way to sink your ship of fools.

The bottles stand as empty, as they were filled before. Time there was and plenty, but from that cup no more Though I could not caution all, I still might warn a few Don't lend your hand to raise no flag atop no ship of fools.

It was later than I thought when I first believed you, now I cannot share your laughter, ship of fools.

John Renbourn 1988 Flying Fish label

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 01 Jul 99 - 03:56 AM

Gargoyle, somehow I'm very uncomfortable knowing you know where I live. --seed

Subject: RE: True Detective Stories
From: gargoyle
Date: 01 Jul 99 - 06:43 AM

Where DO you live?

And why would I want to go there?