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True Detective Stories
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Subject: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 22 Jun 99 - 03:06 PM Here's a challenge inspired, in part, by Dave's work on the "flea/orange/bicycle seat" thread. I will write the first paragraph of the story. Any future postings should continue the story in the same "True Detective Stories" vein, taking it in any direction you like.Here we go! The Case of the Bashful Blonde It was a slow Tuesday afternoon. I sent Mona home early because the phone hadn't rung all day- maybe the phone company had finally made good on their threats and shut me off. I'm Blake Madison, and I'm a private dick. It's a business that's like being married to a beautiful two-timing dame; one evening it's sweet wine and silk kisses, the next you're sleeping in the backseat of a Studebaker with the neighbors cat. Things had been skinny on the coin side since the Arbogast Caper, and I was thinking of hocking my Smith&Wesson to get enough cash for one more bottle of Four Roses. I pulled the pint bottle from my desk drawer and poured the dregs into my coffee cup, when the door swung open. There she was, standing in the doorway like a beacon of hope at the end of a long dark tunnel. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 22 Jun 99 - 03:33 PM "Mom!", slipped from my lips. There she stood, dressed in leather from head to foot. Heavy boots are on her feet, little chains go around the bootops. Heavy leather pants, a little baggy in the knees and seat. Motorycle jacket, open at the top, zippers in the sleeves and sides. Chrome studs go up the arms. A leather hat on her head, the winged badge of Harly Davidson in front. Dark wrap around sunglasses hid her eyes. Her cheeks are sunburned, wrinkled and dusty, from hard riding. "How have you been, come on in and sit down.", I asked my dear mother. "I just came in from Winamucka. I need a place to crash for a few days.", explained my mother. "I could use some dough too, how about twenty skins?" "Sorry Mom, I'm tapped. I haven't had a case for a month, I lost the room last week, I'm sleeping here in the damn car. I was just thinking about hocking something for grub money." I explained. "You dumb shit! What did you do with the Gibson?", she inquired. "I still have Dad's guitar, I'd never sell that.", I stammered, she looked mean. "Well, get it. Were going down to Joe's. If you work it right, you can get some dough." Ordered dear mother. I went to the little broom closet, and there in the back, was Dad's curse. I pulled it out, looked at Mom, and set it on the floor. "I don't want to do this.", shook my voice. "Let's go!", said mother, then picked up the guitar and grabbed me by the arm, we headed to the door, and Joe's.
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Allan C. Date: 22 Jun 99 - 03:38 PM But silouettes can sometimes fool a person. I thought she was quite well endowed until she stepped further into the dim light of the room. Then I realized that what I was seeing were the two grenades she had hanging from a strap which hung over her shoulders..."They aren't real," she said softly. "I just wear them to see the reaction of people I meet." |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Peter T. Date: 22 Jun 99 - 03:39 PM Rats. And on a day of meetings! Yours, Peter T. She was all folksinger. She was built like one of those early Martins, curves in all the right places, but with strings attached. As she came in the room, the shag carpeting on the floor separated to let her pass through. She sat down on an extremely thankful armchair, and crossed her legs in the rewind version of Sharon Stone in "Basic Instinct". "Are you Mudcat Investigations?" she breathed. Oh yeah, breathing. I tried it again myself, just to make sure I hadn't lost the knack. "Mudcat Investigations, Blake Madison, that's the range of introductions on this side of the desk. You, sister?" "Baby Gentry." |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 22 Jun 99 - 03:39 PM Guess we crashed Allan. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 22 Jun 99 - 03:59 PM I put my hand over my face, feeling the beads of perspiration. I drank the bourbon in one dose, feeling the deep staisfying burn of it. The hallucinations had been coming thick and fast,legacy of my summer vacation in San Francisco in 1967, and I had to steady myself. I glanced up again. Mom's face faded. "Are you alright, Mr.Madison?" said Baby. Puzzling though was the fact that she was holding a Gibson guitar that was the twin to the one the Old Man had, right down to the Ernie Ball decal on the pick guard. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: katlaughing Date: 22 Jun 99 - 04:48 PM I drew a hand across my eyes, shaking my head to clear the image and still, Baby was standing there, only now she'd put that damn guitar down and was a lot closer, with her hand on my shoulder, her deep violet peepers gazing with concern into my tired, bloodshot eyes. I caught a very faint scent of her perfume, something that was subtle, but I just knew it was calculated to drive me and every other guy wild, if I lost control. Bunny and me had just busted up after a bunch a'years and I knew I didn't need that kinda trouble, again, and I didn't like the looks of that Martin, so I drew back and gruffly said, "What can I do for you? Make it quick, sister, I gotta lotta cases to work on today!" |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Peter T. Date: 22 Jun 99 - 06:36 PM "Shamus, " she said, her voice cooing hard like a bird flying into a jet engine, "You look like you've been through a lot of cases already today. Was 'Nam that bad for you?" I sat up straight. Where the hell had she got that from? She smiled: "Only someone from 'Nam would have used duct tape to cover over Incoming on his mail tray". There was more than violet behind those eyes. "Look, dickie boy, you are a drunk and a sexist pig, but I need someone who wouldn't look out of place in the last trashcan on Crap Alley. Here's the deal." She suddenly reached back into her guitar case. I reached for my .45 dulcimer. She beat me to it, and brought out a fistful of General Grant's. "There's this money in it for you, and if you are good I might even let you talk dirty to me when all this is over. I want you to find somebody for me. Name's Paper. Little Jackie Paper." "Boyfriend?" "Could be. Could be alive, could be dead. Dragons live forever, not so little boys, if you get my drift." It ws more like an undertow, and I was only just keeping my head above water. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Dave Swan Date: 22 Jun 99 - 06:45 PM (LEJ, I owe you a beer, this is great fun)"Mr. Madison...May I call you Blake ?" she asked in a voice that had the soft overtone of a Bang and Olaufson stylus nesteled into the groove of a recording by Miss Peggy Lee. "Blake, I've lost somethig of great value to the world,and really dear to me." I knew it wasn't her virtue. "It's my bridge pin. No, not the Gibson, the one that holds in this tiny porceline tooth, the one I lost opening that bottle of Lone Star." She showed me the hole. Sometimes you can know too much about a client. I looked at her, wishing I was a kinky dentist and wondering what to do. "See, when I had my bridge out, this cute little computer guy asked my if I'd let him hide something on the pin. He was really extroverted, he looked at MY shoes when he talked. Anyhow, I said 'Sure honey, put it anywhere you like'and now he's looking for the pin, and I've got a gig and I can't keep my bridge in, and oh Blake....." and she fell into my arms. There was no longer a question of a retainer. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Peter T. Date: 22 Jun 99 - 07:07 PM (there seems to be a rhythm of people submitting at about the same time! This is wreaking havoc with continuity....) Are we into parallel universes, hypertext, or those stupid choose between the alternatives for the next part of the movie events? yours, Peter T. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Dave Swan Date: 22 Jun 99 - 07:27 PM We both drew at the same time. I saw the flash of his screaming 386 as the ones and zeros flew. You don't see zeros flying much any more. I checked to see if I was in the right book... |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: bseed(charleskratz) Date: 22 Jun 99 - 07:34 PM But I'd had a hard day and couldn't get it up. I felt like a fool, but she wasn't worried. "What you need," she whispered hotly in my ear (a bit of tongue in that whisper), is a little bit of the old Hokey Pokey, you know, 'You put your left foot in, you take your left foot out...,'" all in that tongue-untied whisper. There was a bit of slobber running down my neck, mixing with the sweat that had started accumulating at my temples about when she put her left foot in. Even though we'd just started the dance, I began getting all post-hokey phallusy. "I have ways of getting you to play, she whispered. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: gargoyle Date: 22 Jun 99 - 07:42 PM
I was right, they hadn't been mixing that one since 1994. There was no doubt who had sent him. I parted the chintzy drapes, looked down the drizzley, dankalley and and saw the neon sign.
The dirty rotten rat had...
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 22 Jun 99 - 07:57 PM ?I had my hands tangled somewhere in her silk blouse, playing Bobo the juggler boy with her tingling nectarines, when we heard the door being pummeled by a blunt object. Baby scrambled under the desk, whispering "I'm not here!" I opened the door. The blunt object I had heard was Lt. Nesbitt. "Evening Lieutenant," I said, nonchalantly as a man can who is still pokey." What brings the pride of the LAPD snooping around my humble hacienda?" |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Dave Swan Date: 22 Jun 99 - 08:47 PM A moment to applaud "Bobo the juggler boy with her tingling nectarines". I stand in awe. D. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac @ home Date: 22 Jun 99 - 11:07 PM "I see that there is hoky going on around here.", slured Nesbitt. He sniffes the air a bit. He detects the umistable oder of Hopies #9, and, something. The Lt. scrunches up his nose, sniffs. "What's going on here, Your up to something, nectarines, gun oil, leather, guitar grease, and some really bad booze. Comon' you can tell me." I look at the very blunt Lt. Sweat drips down off of his nose. His greasy hands hang at his side. He looks up at me and says, "Where is my fifty skins? Your a week late. And where is your Hoky Poky liscense? They just passed a law. No more Hoky Poky without a liscense. Oky Doky? Or ya want to go to the poky? Hoky." This long stream of undeniable logic brought my headache up like all four burners on a gas range. My ears beging to ring. "Ah, bells", says Baby from under the desk. DING DONG (ouch!) |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 22 Jun 99 - 11:38 PM Nesbitt stepped forward, jabbing me in the gut with a bony finger."What's that, Madison? What'd you say about bells?" I stepped back. "Nothing, Lieutenant. I just said 'Hell's Bells', you know. I kind of figured you'd forgot the 50 clams." I was stalling like a Corolla on a steep hill, but the dim lights in Nesbitt's eyes showed he was buying it. Then he stopped, sniffing at the air like a hounddog at a litter box." Hey, Madison. What's that cologne yer wearin? Smells like Pyramid Patchouli to me." I smiled."My natural aroma, flatfoot." He smiled, then walked to the door."You take care, Madison," he said as he opened the door,"I'm keepin my eye on you. We found a stiff in one of those penthouse apartments in the Hills today. Maybe you heard of the guy- Cosmo Gentry. He was a money launderer for the mob. They called him "Little Jackie Paper". We think his wife, Baby, is in on it. She took a powder after the hit, and we're combin the City for her right now." He grinned like a ghoul. " Gruesome scene- Gentry took an ice-pick in the ear." I flinched, reaching out for the eighth-inch of whiskey left in the cup. "You already told me more than I need to know, Nesbitt."He chuckled. "Maybe not, wiseguy. That cologne, that Pyramid Patchouli? The place reeked of it. Funny, huh?" He closed the door behind him. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: katlaughing Date: 23 Jun 99 - 12:15 AM When I locked the door behind the snickering Lt, I turned around very slowly. I could feel the business end of a gat poking me in the back. It was the dame, holding a loaded .44. I looked in her eyes and saw the cold steel grey reflected in them. She wasn't taking no prisoners. "That's right", she said, "Jackie was my husband. But he was no good to me; he had a gun mall in every town! Everytime he went out to work for the big boss, he'd get a new one. He never wanted me! But", she sobbed, "I didn't kill him. I....I loved him too much, even if he was a cheat!" I made my move while she was crying, grabbing the gun from her hand, her ruby-red fingernails glistening in the flash of the neon sign. she stumbled against me, her nectarines pressing into my chest. I felt my heart starting to do extra skip, then snap back into a faster rhythm. She buried her face in my shoulder and proceeded to fall like Niagra. Without a handy hankie, I could see it was gonna be a long and wet night for my shoulder. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 23 Jun 99 - 12:32 AM I'm having a great laugh just reading this!!!! I have and will continue to resist the compulsion to throw in something about the office exploding when he lights up because of a build-up of possum gas from the taxidermist on the floor below. But Kat, I do have a question ....... If Jackie had a gun MALL in every town, it seems to me the cops could have somehow got him on firearm violations don't you think? :+) Keep up the good work group and Blake Madison could be bigger than Phillip Marlowe or Sam Spade!!! (We have a cat named Sam Spade. Actually we used to call him Terrible Tom, but following a trip to the Vet, we call him Sam Spade. 'Course now all he does is lay in the breadbox and stare at me.) catspaw |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: gargoyle Date: 23 Jun 99 - 02:10 AM Her long, red nails fumbled with the buttons on my shirt and scratched my neck.
The blood ran hot. It scorched through my veins and pounded in my brain like the clickety clack of a derailing train.
In a clench we both tumbled towards the bed as my hand scraped the light switch.
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: gargoyle Date: 23 Jun 99 - 02:13 AM Her long, red nails fumbled with the buttons on my shirt and scratched my neck.
The blood ran hot. It scorched through my veins and pounded in my brain like the clickety clack of a derailing train.
In a clench we both tumbled towards the bed as my hand scraped the light switch.
A TRUE STORY (Kate Clinton, John McCutcheon, & Betsy Rose) One morning while reading the paper, in search of a new set of wheels The classifieds had a most curious ad in their listing of automobiles I read in suspicious amusement what seemed like a great stroke of luck "Corvette Stingray," it said, "low mileage, bright red, '83 model -- sixty-five bucks" Well I was used to my newspaper's typos, still I called up that number straightway "'Bout that '83 'Vette -- have you sold the thing yet?" She said, "No, you're my first call today" I said, "There's been some mistake in the paper, they printed the ad wrong somehow" "Oh, no," replied she, "they got that from me." I said, "Don't sell that car, I'm leaving now" Well her address was in the part of the city where I'd ventured just one time or two Where the doctors, bank presidents, and lawyers are residents, and the houses are massive and new As I drove up her half-a-mile driveway, there in the heat of the day In the sunlight it gleamed, the car of my dreams -- just sixty-five dollars away Well the interior was made of white leather, it had a 587 V-8 Bow wingspan doors, Hurst four-on-the-floor, and the 8-channel tape deck was great There was chrome on the chrome on the fender in an aerodynamic design A phone, a TV, and it was bogglin' to me how for sixty-five bucks it was mine Well I suspected the woman was crazy, to be selling the car at this price But as we walked down the lane she seemed perfectly sane -- she was charming and really quite nice And she smiled in such great satisfaction as she handed me title and keys I said, "I've just got to know why you let this thing go -- what's wrong with this car, tell me, please?" Said she, "I'll be sixty come Tuesday, and I've lived here with my husband Earl After thirty years wed, and without a word said, he left me for a young teenage girl With his credit cards here on the table, I knew that he couldn't go far Last night from Florida he sent a wire to me, said, 'I need money, dear -- sell the car!'" @car @revenge filename[ TRUSTORY MC |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 23 Jun 99 - 02:27 AM It was a night to remember, and if Baby hadn't sprung for the fifth of Four Roses Bourbon, I would've remembered it. I woke to the sweet song of a lark purched on the luggage rack of the Studebaker, the morning sun streaming through the windshield onto Baby's flimsy negligee." You've got to tell me the whole story," I said, taking the bottle out of her hands before she could swill what was left. I drank it myself."You gotta believe me," she pleaded, "I didn't do it. We spent the night at the Plunging Surf Motel in Santa Monica... I woke up and he was gone!" She proceeded to make another tear deposit into the growing account on my collar."Slow down, Sweetheart. Then who wanted your old man dead?" She looked at me with eyes that quivered and jumped like a double order of overeasy eggs on a skillet. "I...I'm afraid..." I looked deep into the blue of her eyes, wondering how I had possibly come up with the fried egg image previously. "tell me,,," I urged. She blurted it out-"Peter Fongoul!" "You mean.." "Yes! The leader of the LA Casa Nostra!" I took a deep breath. The name had hit me like a hard fist after a wet kiss. I put the key in the ignition. "well Baby, I need to go have a talk with Mr. Fongoul." I twisted the key in the starter."Got any jumper cables?" |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: bseed(charleskratz) Date: 23 Jun 99 - 02:57 AM This fongoul guy was a creep, a real thread creep, the kind of guy who'd break the flow of a narrative with a totally irrelevant bit of nonsense, and then doublepost it. I'd had it in for him for years and I was just itching for a chance to pin the big one on him--and here it was, the big M, the big capital M. My only regret was that the state had abandoned the gas chamber and gone to the needle. But then a disturbing thought hit me, or rather began to leak into the back of my brain--like the stuff in the IV that I hoped Fongoul would get, and a shiver started on my still-slobbery neck and worked its way vertebrae by vertebrae to my tailbone. What if she was lying, I heard that small voice ask back where the scary thoughts come from. What if she killed him? And what if that prick Nesbitt knew she was with me and was just waiting to connect me to Baby? Shit, I thought, sticking my head up from behind the back door of the Studey, what if he saw me coming out with her? What if he had a camero on us all the time. His asshole friend Sterngutt, the assistant DA that tried all the big cases, would jump at a chance to get back at me for messing up his prosecution of that football player. They could get me for harboring a fugitive, maybe, or accessory after the fact. If I knew that pair, they could probably cook up a way to frame me for the whole thing, and I'd get the needle, not Fongoul. Nesbitt was dirty, I knew, and Fongoul was one of the guys who kept him in Cuban cigars. Gawd, I thought, I let my dick do the thinking, instead of letting my thinker do the dicking. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: alison Date: 23 Jun 99 - 07:11 AM (This is great and I'm not even going to attempt to add to the story except to say that I am accompanying you with some sleazy saxophone background music.... anyone care to join me on the piano?)
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Steve Parkes Date: 23 Jun 99 - 07:47 AM Is there room on there for both of us? the saxophone is a big instrument ... Steve |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: katlaughing Date: 23 Jun 99 - 09:58 AM Too right, 'Spaw! Shoulda been moll! My 'umblest apologies! Kat, who doesn't want to be the only woman contributing to this thread! C'mon gals!! |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Bill in Alabama Date: 23 Jun 99 - 11:04 AM This is great stuff, but the blinkin' (literally) urban legends are givin' me the fan-tods! Keep up the creativity, but shall we try to curb our zeal with the html glossolalia? |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 23 Jun 99 - 11:20 AM Getting out of the car I looked around. Oh, Crap, there was an unmarked car just behind us. There are three guys sitting in the front seat. Little guys, one had a bowl cut of hair, the middle one had a big doo, bald in the middle hair out the sides, you know, clown cut. That last dude was a round sort, real short hair. I walks back to there car. "Hey, Buddy, got any jumper cables?", I asked real nice like. "Shaddap", and the bowl cut guy, slaps the living shit out of the guy in the middle, the last guy is some sort of idiot, he kept saying "nuck nuck nuck" "Yeah, we got jumper cables." The driver gets out and goes to the back. At the same time the other two get out too and run back to the trunk. "Who do you guys work for?", I ask nicely. "Oh, were working for Lt. Nezbitts", replied the long haired one. "Shutup, were not suppose to tell any one", the bowl one said and I swear, slapped the shit out of him again. "nuck nuck nuck" "Ok, What's youses names?", I ask a little less friendly like. "I'm Moe", said bowl cut "I'm Larry", responded big hair. "I'm Curley", answered the bald one, "nuck nuck nuck" God, Nesbits stooges, all three of them. What's a hardworking PI to do. "Why don't you lend me your battry?", I ask. "Why shure, alwise ready to help a motorist", said Moe helpfully. The lugged the big six volt battery out of there Ford, and stuck it in my jalopie. Varooom, ROAR, Caugh, Sputter, and Zoom, I floor the old car and I'm gone in a flash. I look in the mirror and see the three taking turns slapping and kicking each other. I almost feel sorry for Nesbit, having to deal with those three....NOT! |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 23 Jun 99 - 12:19 PM As the Studey eased onto Rodeo Drive, I was almosr sorry Nesbitt's knee-walking idiots had forgotten to follow me. I had a head full of regrets about getting caught up in the whole mess that was brewing. I was like a man in a high-stakes Poker game holding a pair of threes- even though I knew I had to lose, I couldn't afford to get out of the game. Was I really on my way to confront Peter Fongoul, the most dangerous man in LA, about a murder he might have committed ? I felt for the snubnose .357 in my coat pocket for reassurance;there it was, snuggled up with the 200 clams Baby had given me."Nice to have a friend" I said out loud. I turned right on Newcomb St, and eased the car to the curb in front of Danny's. Oh, I was going to talk to Fongoul alright. But first I needed a stiff drink, and I needed to know what Danny had heard about the Gentry caper. Danny's Bar was dark, even at 11:30 AM, but I heard him call out "What'll it be Blake- the usual?" as I stumbled to the bar. I slapped the sawbuck on the formica bartop."The usual times two, Danny. Join me in an eye opener?" "You bet, Blakey. The future's uncertain and the end is always near." He poured two deep ones. "Cheers", he smiled."Man, you look like a two-dollar whore on the sixth day of a seven-day bender." I swallowed the bourbon."Yeah", I said. "And you look like a freaking Carnation in bloom."Danny laughed."Guess you wanna know the skinny on the Gentry scratch-off," Danny said. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: bseed(charleskratz) Date: 23 Jun 99 - 02:28 PM "Is the pope Catholic? Does a bear shit in the woods? Is the sun gonna rise over Ryker's Island?" My sarcasm was lost on him: Danny was the only Mick I'd ever met without a sense of irony. "Of course, I wanna know the skinny on the Paper hit." "Ya know, Blake, things have been kinda tight around here, even with you comin' in three times a day." "Okey dokey, Hokey Pokey." I took one of the Grants and waved it under his nose. His little pig eyes got big, and the veins around his eyeballs twisted themselves into dollar signs. "Don't get too greedy, laddy--I gotta pay the rent, ya know. If you got four twentys you can have this C-note." "Blake," he whinged (the dumb mick had spent a coupla decades in Oz, looking for a brain, I suppose), "this is good stuff--you need it. Believe me, you need it. It's worth every penny of that hundred." Somehow I believed it, so I flapped the bill down on the bar but kept my hand on it. I looked up at him, trying to project skepticism--not that he knew what that was. The silence swelled, the drool started flowing out both sides of that banjo picker's mouth... |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 23 Jun 99 - 03:58 PM So I could tell he was on the leavel. He begin to pick at the C note. Well more like a C#. Danny started to say something, The drool turned red, his eyes rolled up, and he slumped down on the bar. All he said was, "hoooookkkkkk". Funny that. I've known Danny Boy for years, and he never done that before. Babe Screamed! As Dannny was slidding down to the floor behind the bar. I heard a door crash open as someone left the bar in a real big hurry. "Babe, we gotta split...Fast!", I explained as I grabbed the C# note. (well on its way to Bb) As we ran for the car, Babe asked, "Where we going now?" "Joe's Place, Where we should have gone in the first place." We dashed for the car, and the Stooges battery worked just fine, we raced down the street. Looking in the rear view mirror, I saw Lt. Dumbjohns stooges comming after me, on a three stooge bycycle. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Peter T. Date: 23 Jun 99 - 04:45 PM The car had pretty good acceleration, if you were going to be awoken by Sigourney Weaver upon arrival at Alpha Centauri in 2370, but it would have to do. I had other things on my mind. "O.K. , Baby, now that it's just you and me again, you have some explaining to do." She drew her fingers over the knob at the top of the stick shift, tracing patterns. "What do you want to know?" "I want to know why there is suffering in the world. But in the meantime, I'd like some more specific answers from you. What went down at the Tallahatchee Bridge? Who asked for Godfather III? What happened to the peace dividend?" Her eyes welled up, and then welled back down again. "Oh, Blake, I wish I knew. It was so long ago, before, before, before this --" She rolled up her sleeves, and then I knew. She was an addict. She had a carpal tunnel you could drive rush hour traffic through, and still make it home in under half and hour. I had seen it before, god knows. It starts with a simple click, maybe a small request for a tune, you know, something grandma loved, and then gradually the threads begin to take charge. You start following celtic threads you don't even understand, just to keep the blue in your veins. You start asking for songs you already know, just to get a high. It gets so bad you click on to "Ignore this" and "LYR request: California Dreamin", and then even that isn't enough. Then -- but that was too much even for me. I turned away so as not to shame her with what she might see in my eyes. It was horrible: it was disgusting: it was my town, and I loved it. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Date: 23 Jun 99 - 05:36 PM This is wonderful! Sooo..what happens next?? annap aka apavao |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Peter T. Date: 23 Jun 99 - 05:45 PM Anna, Shweetheart, whatever your moniker, you're supposed to contribute, you're part of Victor's work, part of what keeps it all going, If you're not on that plane when -- wait a minute, wrong Bogart film!! (CUT) |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: katlaughing Date: 23 Jun 99 - 05:52 PM Yeah! We don't get too many of her kind, here in Mudcatville, I thought to myself. I was ashamed to admit: I was happy in a sicko way to see her hooked. It meant I wasn't alone, with a bunch'a other over-the-hill pickers with day old whiskers and the equipment to match. Read that anyway ya wanna! For some reason, there always more men who need the fix than those of the fairest sex, like Baby. It seems Babe started using up her hubby's online time, that he used for washing the dough, ya know? He'd find her in there all hours of the day and night, tapping away, looking for the one song that would set her free. He didn't know the half of it. While Babe sat there mixing it up with the like o'Joe, Mick, and Rick, Jackie Paper's funny paper was going south of the border to Mexico! The big Boss got wind something was up and followed Jackie's online connections. That's when he knew: Jackie's Main Moll had a serious problem and it was costing him and Jackie a lot of money. After hearing this sob story from the dame, I started going down the alphabet, from arsehole on, calling them all the cussed names I could think of, but Babe gasped, her eyes widened in such shock and dismay and I thought I'd better cool it, her being a lady and all. I told her we'd have to prove everything she'd just told me if she didn't wanna get deep-sixed herself an', I was not feeling too comfortable myself at that prospect either. Not knowing of my own addiction, Baby started telling me how, in M'ville, you can just tap out a person's name and everything they've ever said on there comes up! I was beginning to think she wasn't such a ditzy dame after all and maybe I was going to have to kiss her to shut her up. No telling if she'd seen my name and postings on there and I wasn't ready to discuss it with her. Not, yet, anyway. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 23 Jun 99 - 06:00 PM Suddenly, I felt the Ventura Highway spinning like a pinwheel on the ass of a pinata at a Christmas Party for the Blind. Danny had done it...slipped me the mickey before he caught the big sleep himself. The last thing I remembered was Baby's red-lacquered fingertips on the hand gripping the steering wheel, while visions of sugar plums unloaded hollow-points clips in my head. A decade later I woke up- looking right at a huge rubber sign that read CATSPAW . It was the heel of Nesbitt's police regulation wingtip. "Get up, Madison! Get up before I stomp your stupid head into the dirt!" He and Moe grabbed a handful of my Shirt and yanked me to my feet."Baby..." I mumbled, as Nesbitt brushed me off with an action that was damn close to police brutality."Enough of your endearments, Madison. I'm just doin my job. Course, I oughta run you in for vagrancy. Look at ya- sleepin in the Colladia bushes by the side of the Highway." "Yeah, Lieutenant. You're a true prince. Where's my hat?" "On the passenger seat of that Piece of shit you drive, parked over there in the grass." I got lucky the key was still in it. "Hey, Madison," said Nesbitt," I got some bad news. Somebody 86ed your pal Danny Flynn. Similar MO to the Gentry job, only Danny took the pick in the back." He shut my door for me. "like I said, a real prince," I growled. He smiled that yellow nicotine grin."You ain't mixed up in this are ya, Blakey? You know, Danny, Papers... and you still stink of Patchouli oil." "Not a chance, copper." I turned the key."Say Nesbitt?" " Yeah?" "Borrow a couple of bucks for gas?" |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Alice Date: 23 Jun 99 - 08:56 PM As Nesbitt's beady eyes narrowed and his donut-sugared lips began to tremble, a ringing came from that Catspaw wingtip. "Hey, Lieutenant, are you all Gettin' Smart down at the precinct?"
"Wise guy," he muttered, struggling with the laces so he could answer before the Chief got mad.
"Hey, those aren't Bruno Magli's, are they? And since when did you take to wearin' tight leather gloves?"
"Shaddup!" Nesbitt snarled, as he waddled off to confab with his boss. My hands were shakin' and sweaty... I had to get to a laptop, a cyber cafe, a public library... anything to get back online and see what was happenin'. Will could have refreshed that thread by now, and for all I knew, it could have the answer about Jackie. With that ammunition, I could save Baby... maybe even save myself.
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: gargoyle Date: 24 Jun 99 - 02:12 PM No gas. No money. That Nesbit was a sheep's mother's intestun.
I caught a ride wid a cabby deadheadin back to Mudcatville and da answers to da questions. Told him I would buy him beer at He replied,Well, cab drivers are scum bags. Now I know you're a scum bag. Worse. You're a whore. A pimp and a whore under one roof. And you're a fucking little sociopath. These credentials are impressive, but won't necessarily make you a good cabby. You do look the part, if you weren't so goddamn cute. A few more years of drink and drugs will take care of that.
Anyway.
Cab drivers are scum bags. They lust only for whores and gambling. They like to fight. They like to kick jerks out of their cab. They are jerks. They're not nice to women and children, even if they are women and children. Arty types don't make the grade. They're sheep in cab driver clothing. A real cab driver is a full time son of a bitch. He may or may not know how to speak English, but you can bet he's a talking asshole in any language. The son of a bitches will never grow up. They don't want real jobs. They're eternal boys, which is to say your average American fellah, except they do it for a living.
Cabbies take the worse shit a man can take and get paid for it. Mercenary killers are higher on the ladder. So are whores when it comes to selling your ass. A cabby is a legal criminal. Something like a lawyer, same branch of pedestrianism. Know what they call a cabby without a hangover? A nonsequitur. No such animal. You'd fit in there pretty well. Drugs too. You gotta take lots of drugs to be a cabby. But know how to handle them. Combine them like an alchemist. The best cabbies can shoot a goofball in their neck going sixty in heavy traffic and the passengers won't even notice. You'd do alright there too.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. The most important part - and I don't know if you fill the bill here. We'll see - a cabby's gotta know how to push a hack. If you can't pass a hack through the eye of a needle, you ain't no cabby. The cab's gotta be an integral part of you. It has to fit like a glove, hang like a genital, bounce like a tit, shit like an eagle, fly like a demon, burrow through the city like a rat in a garbage heap and come out shining. You gotta be able to sneak up on a fare like a pickpocket. You gotta squeeze through double parked cars like toothpaste. There can't be more than the distance between the hem of a whore's skirt and her snatch between you and sleepwalking pedestrians. You gotta have nerves of steel and the patience of a toad. Otherwise you'll crack up. You'll get fired or end up in a fireball on the freeway. Cab driving is magic and you gotta master the automatic pilot. If you're the type of pedestrian who bumps into other people on the street, probably you won't make a cabby.
Got it? Get out! I'll be back for my beer.
We got out, da broad and I. We were standin' in front of
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 24 Jun 99 - 03:14 PM We stagger into the warm, smokey, insides of Joe's Bar. "Where to hell have you been? Blake, you were supposed to be here hours ago.", Screamed Joe. "Get your ass up on the stage! Now! You know if you wern't so good, I'd can you right now!" Aw, shit! I think, Lets see stage, yeah, thats a way. I stagger up to the stage and sit on this stool. Next to me is an old flat top. I usualy use this one, when my regular axe is sleeping over at Pauls Hock shop. I pick up the axe and look at the play list taped to the top. 1. Hokey Pokey 2. She's too fat for me, Polka 3. Hokey Pokey 4. Barf burger surprise. (my own tune.) 5. Hokey Pokey 6. 99 bottles of beer on the wall 7. Hokey Pokey 8. Goodnight Irine (dirty version) 9. Hokey Pokey (repeat 1, 3, 5, 7, & 9) Crap, How do you play 99 bottles of beer. Well it will come to me. "Baby, can you sing?" I ask babe. "Only the Hokey Pokey", she replied. [Hot Damn!] "Come on up here.", I say as I look over the crowd. Looks like about 75 or so. Oh, there was every kind of scum on earth in that room. Leather boys, dock woppers, fish mongers, librils, hayseeds, leather girls (Mom?), a rougher bunch I have never seen before. Gad just like last week. "What to you want to hear?" I ask the crowd. Silence fell over the place. All talking stopped, even the clanking of the glasses muted. In one voice they replied, "Hokey Pokey, Hokey Pokey" "Ok, we have a request for (BURP!) Hokey Pokey", I anounced. Babe beamed, and searched for the old Radio Shack mike. Damn wish I hadn't hocked the amp. "Use the Bho-Ran, Babe", she looked around and found the Irish Headache, and began to thump. I start to play the requested (ugh) Hokey Pokey, when bedlam overcame the crowd. Tables were tossed from the middle of the room, a huge circle formed. 75 Hokey Pokey Drunkie, Sicky, Dumbies, began to put there body parts in and out. "Put your right hand in, put your right hand out" ... "Put your big ars in and shake it all about", The sight was something to behold. Even Joe, stuck his skinny little butt in his very own circle behind the bar. I'm thinking [God, don't the the Bho-Ran break]
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: katlaughing Date: 24 Jun 99 - 08:46 PM About that time, the doors burst open, everybody hit the floor as the cops filled in and spread out. I grabbed the dame and we split up through the skylight. It was so dirty and grimy from the cooking and Joe never cleaning it, that those cops never knew it was there. We shimmied outta there, jumped onto the next roof, ran to the far edge and I told Baby, "When I say 'JUMP!' you do it! NOW!" Holding her hand tight, I landed with her on the back of a police horse, saddled and ready to ride. Baby snuggled up against me, I grabbed the reins and we hightailed it outta there like Zorro, or Tonto & the Lone Ranger, or Pancho Villa, or, well you get the picture? Baby just had a few more curves than any a'dohs guys. I gave the horse his head, and he made a sharp turn to the left, running as fast as he could from all of the commotion a'that police raid. We could hear people screaming, sirens blazing, it sounded like a four-alarm fire was blazing away; but there we rode, in a blazing saddle of our own. We were wanted by the law and we had to go on the lam or else it would be the silence of the lambs for us! I was hoping that horse knew his way around the country insteada just bein' a city horse; I hoped he was kissin' cousins with some mare outside on a farm with a fast getaway car or at least a barn to lay low in for awhile. Taking up the reins, I decided to let him know where I wanted to go and it definitely wasn't to the stable where he knew some oats was waitin'! All the while I was biting my tongue from it trying to take its natural course; that is a course of cussing up a blue streak within hearing a'the lady. I knew that undeneath all that cheap nail polish and polyester reeking of Pyramid Patchouli, there was a real lady just dying to burst outta the prison she'd been in, if she'd only meet the guy of her dreams. A guy like me who'd recognise that she wasn't meant to be the lady and the tramp of Mudcatville; no, not even the lady sings the blues. There was a true blue real my fair lady underneath all that and I was planning on making her mine. Just as soon as that horse and me could agree on where we was going and I could keep from saying something that a blue law would cover, that'd burn her delicate ears! |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 25 Jun 99 - 12:22 AM But a horse is a horse of course. About 1/4 mile from Joe's I saw a bum asleep in the grass on the edge of Windsor Park. We got off the horse, and I tied the bridle to the bums left tennis shoe. I wouldn't have minded being there in the morning when he woke up,just for grins, but I had ground to cover. We found a flea bag hotel nearby. This place had so many misfits shacking up there it was called The John Smith Arms . Baby had been around the world; she could make love in 9 different languages. We had just completed French, and were half way into Spanish, when I had to Finnish. I kissed her for luck, and caught a cab in front of the motel. "Take me to..." "Yeah, I know," said the Cabby," 312 Wiltshire Dr. Apartment 666." I hid my surprise by reaching for a Lucky Strike, then remembered I'd quit smoking in 1980. The cabby twisted in the seat, extending a red pack in my direction." Pall Mall ok?" I took two. One for the road.He lit the other. "Thanks" I said"...Fongoul pay you?" "Right. No charge. You must have more horsepower than it looks like," he smiled. We headed down Conciega, close enough to see the waves smashing the pier on Palomino Beach. I had the cigarette- I guessed that the blindfold was next. We pulled up in the circular drive of a very posh adobe apartment building. I got out and ground the butt in the hot asphalt. I felt for the revolver. Damn. Left it on the nightstand. " That's alright" said the cabby, and slapped a Beretta in my fist."I was a friend of Danny's." He drove off as I stashed the heat in my waistband. I turned toward the front door. It was solid walnut, and it was shaped just like a coffin lid. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: bseed(charleskratz) Date: 25 Jun 99 - 03:42 AM "A real cab driver is a full time son of a bitch. He may or may not know how to speak English, but you can bet he'sa talking asshole in any language."
I love it, Gargoyle--actually the whole cabbie thing was great (it did take a while to get back to the narrative, though). Sometimes I get too ironic for my own peace of mind: the apartment house was adobe, probably pigshit mixed with straw sunbaked into brick, but posh? Pish and tosh. The fleabag where I'd loved and left Baby was the Ritz-Gargoyle by comparison. I felt that chill working its way back up my back as I reached for the polished brass handle on the coffin, feelin' like the guy who just screwed his girlfriend in a slasher movie, but I couldn't stop. And that goddam door gave a creak right out of "Inner Sanctum" when I pulled it open. It was dead black inside and I knew I was an easy target in the doorway, so I jumped through it pulling it shut and made a dive and roll to the left just as a shot rang out. I saw the muzzle flash and knew where to shoot but when I reached for the Beretta, I found it had slid inside my pants when I dove. I fumbled around in there and grabbed the only hard thing I could find and pulled it out. Luckily, two hours of touring Europe with Baby insured that there was no mistaking my gun for the gat. I aimed it in the general direction where I had seen the flash before and almost jerked one off, but I figured that whoever was shooting at me had probably moved and MY muzzle flash would show him where to find me. --seed |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 25 Jun 99 - 03:36 PM |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 25 Jun 99 - 03:45 PM Some scuffling. A thump, a mumbled (ow!) Man there is nothin' in the world like being in a dark house, with a madman that has a loaded gun. Shitshitshit how do I get into these things. "I just want to talk.", I say. "Who is it? Is that yoy? Blake?" a somewhat familur voice responds. "Yeh, Stinky, It's me, I want to talk to you about all the heat thats going down," A light comes on. The room is in shambles, papers everywhere. Bits of instruments laying hither and yon. Stinky, peeks from around the door. He steps into the room, "Ddddddooonnn't Shhhoooootttt, Blllakkkkkee". I looks around and spy a half empty bottle of Four Roses, I picks it up and downs a slug, Damn it felt good. "Give me the skinny on the icemans work.", I request. Stinky, looks at me with doe eyes, (I hate that) and pulls out a pack of smokes, sticks a cig in his face and lights up. He is so nervesis that the end is moving up and down to his trembling lips. "Iceman, I don't know nothin about no iceman." "Yeah, Sure"
"Blake, I'm telling you the truth, Joes pissed at ya for not finishing your gig at his place. He had to bring in a thumber from Oakland, to finish the Bow-Ran bit. He had 75 people with there foots in it, and couldn't get them out. Then this kid, Bill B. or something like that came in and started squeezing Polkas. Blake it was terrable, everywhere Polkas, They drank up all the beer and ate up all the hogies. Now it's
"Hey, kid, I'm on a murder case here." I explain.
"Murder, what's that? Murders happen all the time, but to go from the Hokey Pokey, to Polka. How could you? The Bho-Ron union has put a contract out on you. Like you killed there only gig in California."
Way off in the distance I could just detect a siren whailing for me. Time to blow.
"So you don't know nuthen about the ice pick caper?" I asked.
"Ewwwweee, Ice pick, oh Hoookkkyy", and Stinky passed out.
I didn't really believe everthing that Stinky told me, so I decided to toss the place. After searching the living room, I went to Stinky's bedroom, there I found.... |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 25 Jun 99 - 04:41 PM It was dark...dark and quiet as a tomb. The only sound was the muffled tick of my Timex and the piston pounding of my heart.I was cornered like an alley cat. I reached out to touch the wall with my left hand and felt...nothing. It was a hallway leading to the back of the bungalow. Still crouching, I duckwalked into the passage, bracing for a slug in the guts that didn't come. I moved slowly down the hall toward a dim but lighter area... I stopped, seeing a figure in the doorway in profile. I placed the snout of the Beretta against her forehead."Drop it." The pistol clattered to the floor. I fumbled for the switch, found it. The grimy room flooded with light. She stood in front of me, her green eyes wide with terror. She had long raven hair, full lips...she looked like Salma Hayek's more attractive sister."Who the hell are you?" I asked. "I'm sorry..I..I thought you were someone else." Tears rolled down those amazing cheek bones. "I'm Mrs. Gentry! My husband was murdered yesterday!" My mind locked up for a second, a little message appeared This program has committed a fatal error and will be shut down. It took 30 seconds to re-boot my brain. "And you are...?" She pulled me tightly to her. "Baby Gentry," she whimpered. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 25 Jun 99 - 04:50 PM |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 25 Jun 99 - 05:49 PM (Well fadac, we stepped on each others posts again. Might take Blake himself to sort this one out) |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 25 Jun 99 - 06:03 PM (( LEJ, Yup the old "Temporal Trap.")) |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: bseed(charleskratz) Date: 25 Jun 99 - 08:57 PM "YOU'RE Baby Gentry? Then who is it that I left up in the Fleabag Marriot?" And what happened to Stinky, I wondered, as well as who in the hell is Stinky? And why am I getting the blame for turning Joe's place into a polka place? It was Joe who hired Ralph Howard and His Concertina Hep Cats, not me. "Where is Stinky," I asked the latest pretender to the Baby Paper title. "And who in the hell was he anyway? He looked familiar, kind of like some old song, and not a polka, either. Baby, or whoever she was, didn't have any answers to the last questions, but she did insist she WAS Baby G and not Bobbie McGee (she wasn't busted flat in Baton Rouge, for sure, nor anywhere else: no tangerines on this tootsie, only grapefruit). --seed |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 26 Jun 99 - 12:33 AM Dramatic music builds to crescendo... cue commercial in 3-2-1- "Hi folks, this is Blake Madison. You know, in the rough and tumble world of a Private Dick, there's just no time to sit down and say my mantra. Besides, alternate nostril breathing gives me a splitting headache. That's why, on the set, or just relaxing at home with my real-life family...it's Four Roses Bonded Kentucky Bourbon Whiskey for me. It's just right at the end of a long busy day. Or at the beginning. It goes with a thick steak, a plate of scrambled eggs, or a heapin helpin of Nissin Cup o Noodles. One jigger of Four Roses in a glass served neat, and its Relaxation Time . In fact, if I don't have one every fifteen minutes or so I get the heebie jeebies so bad I have to wrap my tie around my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. So remember, when you find its Relaxation Time take a tip from a guy who's been there(at least every body else says I was there. I...don't remember) Make it Four Roses...and You. cue announcer Blake Madison, Private Dick is also brought to you by the Theime Condom Co. Remember, when it comes to the "Art of Love", if you don't have a Theime, it's just not Art. Now back to The Case of the Bashful Blonde
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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.) |
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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. |
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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."
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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.) |
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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. |
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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) |
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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?"
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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.... |
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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? |
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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... |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |
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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. |
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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?" |
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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 .... |
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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...
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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. |
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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..;. |
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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. |
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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? |
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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. |
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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!!) |
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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 |
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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. |
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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 |
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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 |
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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.... |
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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?? |
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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. |
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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 |
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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 |
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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. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Fadac Date: 29 Jun 99 - 10:07 AM [FADE TO BLACK] [ROLL CREDIIS] |
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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 |
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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 |
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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. |
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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 |
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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. |
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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? |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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 |
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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.
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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! |
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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 |
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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 |
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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? |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: bseed(charleskratz) Date: 01 Jul 99 - 03:10 PM Fongoyle, tell me I'm wrong when I sense both obsession and hatred in your postings. --seed |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: LEJ Date: 01 Jul 99 - 05:24 PM Hey guys...this was a great and fun thread. Let's not ruin it by flaming each other. Thanks....LEJ |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: alison Date: 01 Jul 99 - 09:34 PM could do with a baddy over in An Irish Tale anyone interested?
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 07 Sep 99 - 04:44 PM Just a refresh of the first Blake Madison adventure to let the newbies know how it works. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Alice Date: 09 Sep 07 - 03:59 PM |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Little Hawk Date: 09 Sep 07 - 04:54 PM Hmmm. Okay, some very fine writing here and there, but the whole thing smacks a lot more of Mike Hammer than of Philip Marlowe to me. I prefer Philip Marlowe, and here's why... "Underneath the wisecracking, hard drinking, tough private eye, Marlowe is quietly contemplative and philosophical. He enjoys chess and poetry. While he is not afraid to risk physical harm, he does not dish out violence merely to settle scores. Morally upright, he is not bamboozled by the genre's usual femmes fatales, like Carmen Sternwood in The Big Sleep. As Chandler wrote about his detective ideal in general, "I think he might seduce a duchess, and I am quite sure he would not spoil a virgin." Chandler's treatment of the detective novel exhibits a continuing effort to develop the art form. His first full length book, The Big Sleep, was published when Chandler was 51; his last, Playback, when he was 70. All seven novels were produced in the last two decades of his life. All maintain the integrity of Philip Marlowe's character, but each novel has unique qualities of narrative tone, depth and focus that set it apart from the others." Philip Marlowe is a man I can respect. Mike Hammer is a low class jerk with a talent for survival. The other thing is, MAN does it ever get frustrating when a whole bunch of people are posting all kinds of crazy stuff at random and buggering up the story beyond recognition and dragging it in 5 different directions. Sheesh. That's the main problem with story threads. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Amos Date: 09 Sep 07 - 07:44 PM Aw, quitcher whinin', Hawk. Ya got a chip on yer shoulder as big as your mother's barn door. Whyncha come up with some stuff worth readin' instead of all this hangdog critique? Whaddya you think, yer the literary critic for the Daily Mail or somp'n? Sheesh! |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 09 Sep 07 - 10:19 PM Actually, Blake has more in common with Nick Danger than either one of those cats you mentioned, LH. And even Nick never got busted for selling mushrooms when he was a freshman at Montana State like Madison did. Madison would never seduce a duchess, although he was hit on pretty heavy by a countess in a seaside bar in New York City once. And he could only lay claim to the violation of one virgin, which sin he attempted to atone for by marrying said innocent. No, he's nothing more than a guy I knew fairly well back in my footloose days, a guy who read too many detective stories, picked all of the wrong women, and never knew when to leave the party. We have all adapted better to the changing times than Blake ever could. Blake in his shabby trench coat, carrying a pistol and a hangover, while believing his whole life that "all you need is Love" was a philosophy worth dying for. A walking contradiction with his feet in the gutter and his head in the clouds, a man who lost most of his heroes to violence and self-abuse long ago. He is an exile from a time that has passed. A man who was injured by the hope of man's nobility, and hides the wound beneath his clothes in the dim bars he frequents. Yes, truly, he has no class, but he has a nose for beauty second to none. At least, that's my opinion. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: wysiwyg Date: 09 Sep 07 - 10:24 PM ... lost most of his heroes to violence and self-abuse long ago... Hm, ya mean it can be worse than going blind-- fatal?!?! I'm a hafta ask our coroner pal about that one-- may change how I perceive some of the many funerals I have to attend.... See, LH, what happens when weird posts get stuck smack dab in a story thread? Who's to say what's on topic/in story, and what ain't? ~S~ |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 09 Sep 07 - 10:29 PM Wiz, by "self-abuse" I didn't mean masturbation. That's not fatal. Thank God. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Little Hawk Date: 09 Sep 07 - 10:47 PM It isn't fatal? Are you sure? Well, maybe that depends on how much you do it... ;-) I didn't mean to say that Blake is exactly like Mike Hammer, LEJ. No, he's sorta halfway between Hammer and Marlowe, I think. Blake Madison is okay in himself. It's more the overall style of a lot of the contributions that I was referring to...they sound closer to a Mike Hammer story than to a Philip Marlowe story. It's just a question of what style you like for a private eye story. I like it hardboiled, but not too vulgar, if you follow me. I never read any Nick Danger, so I have no idea about that. "A man who was injured by the hope of man's nobility" Hey! That sounds a lot like me. ;-) (and more than a few other good people I know) |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Little Hawk Date: 09 Sep 07 - 10:52 PM By the way, your thumbnail sketch of Blake sounds tremendously like my pal Chongo, although Chongo seems to bounce back and forth between optimism and pessimism. When the money's coming in he's optimistic and upbeat. When it isn't, he gets in those dark moods. He's also been looking for "Miss Right" for a long time, but he's a bit confused over which species to focus on when it comes to that. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Lonesome EJ Date: 09 Sep 07 - 11:00 PM Nick Danger can't be read. He can only be heard. And yes, I believe Blake is a bit like you. And that's not really such a bad thing. |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Little Hawk Date: 09 Sep 07 - 11:06 PM Yeah. ;-) So is Nick Danger on the radio or something? Did you really model Blake on somebody you actually knew in 3-D life? |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Alice Date: 09 Sep 07 - 11:47 PM Nick Danger... Third Eye. (LH you would have had to sit in that patoulie and incense scented room in Bozeman, glued til after midnight to the thrift store couch with Blake's mom, listening to Firesign Theater, to understand that reference). |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: katlaughing Date: 23 Mar 10 - 05:26 PM One more refresh. It's been a blast to re-read this. I think it was one of our very first, wasn't it? |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: Wesley S Date: 23 Mar 10 - 05:32 PM That would require some investigation Kat...... |
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Subject: RE: True Detective Stories From: katlaughing Date: 23 Mar 10 - 05:43 PM LOL...ya think?:-) |
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