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True Detective Stories

LEJ 22 Jun 99 - 03:06 PM
Fadac 22 Jun 99 - 03:33 PM
Allan C. 22 Jun 99 - 03:38 PM
Peter T. 22 Jun 99 - 03:39 PM
Fadac 22 Jun 99 - 03:39 PM
LEJ 22 Jun 99 - 03:59 PM
katlaughing 22 Jun 99 - 04:48 PM
Peter T. 22 Jun 99 - 06:36 PM
Dave Swan 22 Jun 99 - 06:45 PM
Peter T. 22 Jun 99 - 07:07 PM
Dave Swan 22 Jun 99 - 07:27 PM
bseed(charleskratz) 22 Jun 99 - 07:34 PM
gargoyle 22 Jun 99 - 07:42 PM
Lonesome EJ 22 Jun 99 - 07:57 PM
Dave Swan 22 Jun 99 - 08:47 PM
Fadac @ home 22 Jun 99 - 11:07 PM
Lonesome EJ 22 Jun 99 - 11:38 PM
katlaughing 23 Jun 99 - 12:15 AM
catspaw49 23 Jun 99 - 12:32 AM
gargoyle 23 Jun 99 - 02:10 AM
gargoyle 23 Jun 99 - 02:13 AM
Lonesome EJ 23 Jun 99 - 02:27 AM
bseed(charleskratz) 23 Jun 99 - 02:57 AM
alison 23 Jun 99 - 07:11 AM
Steve Parkes 23 Jun 99 - 07:47 AM
katlaughing 23 Jun 99 - 09:58 AM
Bill in Alabama 23 Jun 99 - 11:04 AM
Fadac 23 Jun 99 - 11:20 AM
LEJ 23 Jun 99 - 12:19 PM
bseed(charleskratz) 23 Jun 99 - 02:28 PM
Fadac 23 Jun 99 - 03:58 PM
Peter T. 23 Jun 99 - 04:45 PM
23 Jun 99 - 05:36 PM
Peter T. 23 Jun 99 - 05:45 PM
katlaughing 23 Jun 99 - 05:52 PM
LEJ 23 Jun 99 - 06:00 PM
Alice 23 Jun 99 - 08:56 PM
gargoyle 24 Jun 99 - 02:12 PM
Fadac 24 Jun 99 - 03:14 PM
katlaughing 24 Jun 99 - 08:46 PM
Lonesome EJ 25 Jun 99 - 12:22 AM
bseed(charleskratz) 25 Jun 99 - 03:42 AM
LEJ 25 Jun 99 - 03:36 PM
Fadac 25 Jun 99 - 03:45 PM
LEJ 25 Jun 99 - 04:41 PM
LEJ 25 Jun 99 - 04:50 PM
LEJ 25 Jun 99 - 05:49 PM
Fadac 25 Jun 99 - 06:03 PM
bseed(charleskratz) 25 Jun 99 - 08:57 PM
Lonesome EJ 26 Jun 99 - 12:33 AM
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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. _fadac


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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

The Bar Keepers Guide

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. "Joe's Bar"

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.

It was clear there would be no sleep this night.

She lapped the blood on my neck like a cat.

Like a cat at the Vet.

No the Vet with the cat.

No the VET I asked my wife to sell

Where was that damn money?

Next morning I heard the answer on the radio. As the announcer said:

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: 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.

It was clear there would be no sleep this night.

She lapped the blood on my neck like a cat.

Like a cat at the Vet.

No the Vet with the cat.

No the VET I asked my wife to sell

Where was that damn money?

Next morning I heard the answer on the radio. As the announcer said:

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 JOE'S BAR and strung him along like a mooseturd necklace by sayin I wanted to become a cab-driver myself.

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 JOE'S BAR like some sort B.S. Hay-Seeds fresh from the dung pile.


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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 Joe's Polka Place. Why did you do this?"

"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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