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True Detective True Detective

True Detective True Detective

Ratings: (0)|Views: 194 |Likes:
Published by Rich Puz
Humorous, 1930s-styled, hardboiled detective fiction. Original short story; 1,900 words
Humorous, 1930s-styled, hardboiled detective fiction. Original short story; 1,900 words

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Published by: Rich Puz on Oct 01, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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True Detective
True Detective
Somebody had made a helluva mess in this classy art deco boudoir or else the
broad was a real oinker. You couldn‟t tell about dames. All primped up, shelooked like the cat‟s meow —
coulda been a model right off the runway forMaison de Fro
g‟s designer line.
 But, blast-it, clothes were all over the place. Not a bad place, either
itsmelled of bucks: mahogany King Edward chairs covered with burgundycrushed velvet; mirrors framed in ornate gold leaf; vanilla cream colored chestand dresser with 24-carat gold fittings and, center stage, a matching four-posterframed with elegant silk ruffles, top and bottom.Everything strewn with lingerie, silk cover-ups, a rainbow of pumps that
coulda stocked Bonwit‟s shoe salon. He got lost in the linge
rie, his eyes looking
the silk nothings over. What a mess! “Concentrate!” he told himself. He wasn‟t
here to write up a commendation for a Good Housekeeping award. Maybe themaid broke a leg and they had to shoot her. Who knows?He picked up a black lace chemise, sniffed the fragrance that still lingered andpictured the dame filling it out
she was a looker. Nice rolling curves, cresting in just the right places. Full red lips. Eyes that sparked with passion. Long brunettehair his fingers would love to roam through. And she seemed Ok, at least from adistance. Not one of those high society willowy string beans, languidly lookingdown on the world over a stuck-up nose.CRASH! A sound like a case of crystal being smashed brought him around
quick. Somebody couldn‟t a been more than twenty feet away.
!” He scanned the room. Could he duck under the bed? Yeah, right?
Lay on the floor so someone could lift the ruffle and shove a snub-nosed .38 in
his face? Claiming he was takin‟ inventory of the dame‟s sweet
probably wouldn‟t buy him a whole lot of time.
 He made like Joey the Dwarf, the midget ballplayer the Bronx Bombers
would wheel out when they were so desperate they‟d play for a walk. Only 4‟8”
True Detective
standing, the dwarf crouched so low in a batting stance that even Ty Cobb
couldn‟t hit his six
-inch strike zone.Stooped and scuttling, he caromed off the wall, slapped the light switch off,flung open a closet door and eased in, pulling the door closed.Crunch! What the hey? His feet were on broken glass. Out of nowhere, arabbit punch caught him in the kidneys. Knocked back, he fumbled for the doorcatch, released it and dove back into the bedroom. He straightened up, theadrenaline overriding his pain, ready to do battle.Grabbing his own piece, a trusty .22 semi-automatic, he found the light. Theroom was still empty, the closet door ajar.Was this a bad case of the DTs? Nobody else was around. But whatever thehell was in that damn closet was gonna have to deal with one angry SOB!
“Hands up, you goniff!” he yelled, kicking the closet door open andcrouching in the dwarf‟s shrunken stance. He pointed his piece up: he wasn‟t out
to castrate the guy, just stop him.
Wait a minute. It was the looker, trussed up like she‟d been on the wrong
end of calf-roping contest. Lying on the closet floor, her eyes blazed at him withthe look of a treed lioness ready to rip out his throat.Dangerous? God, she was beautiful! And she was helpless, her legs and armsbound together with a pair of stockings, a face cloth wadded in her mouth andheld in place by a length of phone wire.He just stared at her. All she had on was a black silk slip. She had the shapelygams of a bathing beauty, smooth and firm, tanned, athletic thighs that couldhave graced a channel swimmer. Her melons strained against the black silk, theirbullet tips threatening to punch through the fabric. This was a gorgeous dame, aferocious feline animal. She looked back, unselfconscious and unafraid, glaring athim
challenging him.He opened his coat and slid the .22 back into a pocket.
True Detective
“Hi, beautiful —
hope you‟re not too tied up to talk to me,” he murmured,
favoring her with a schoolboy grin. Crouching beside her, he unwrapped thephone cord. She spit the cloth out of her mouth, gagging momentarily.
“Who are you, junior G
Man?” she asked sarcastically.
“Hey, I‟m Captain Midnight, doll —
out protecting god fearing citizens,
saving widows and orphans, rescuing damsels in distress.”
 He locked eyes with her, flashing a warm smile. Bending down, he studiedthe knotted stockings binding her arms and legs together like a rodeo calf. Thestockings were taut silk cords, creasing her flesh as they held her forearms andthighs together. One thing he was sure of: no Boy Scout would have tied thatgreat granny of a knot.
“Listen, Midnight —
you here to look or to help?”
 Startled, he studied her face. Did he know this woman? Had he seen herbefore? What was it that made her seem so familiar? Or, was it just wishful
thinking …
“Wouldn‟t want me to ruin this fine pair of stockings, would you, doll?” he
asked, his fingers probing the silken knot.
“Very thoughtful, Midnight, but gangrene is setting in! When they have tocut off my legs I‟m not gonna have much use for these stockings.”
“Then you won‟t mind if I take them as a souvenir,” he said, using his fingers
to unsnarl the knot.
“My legs? You lookin‟ for body parts, go dig up a grave,” she said with deep,
throaty laugh.Startled, he laughed too, and then he realized: it was her voice, where had heheard it before? There was something about that sick sense of humor he foundvery appealing. She had a wry, knowing smile, too, he noticed as he loosened theknot.

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