AACHOO VOO, PRIVATE EYE Episode 4

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye 

Episode Four


     I made an appointment to go see Big david. I wanted my money.  I needed my money. The rent was due on the apartment and the cat needed a new pair of shoes. Of course, to get in to see Big david,  you had to contact Big Tony who had to contact Big Louie who had to call Big david's secretary, Candy, who then put in a request to Big david's bodyguard, Little Guido, who, if he felt like it, maybe mentioned it to Big david when he found him in a mellow mood. Then, depending upon whether or not he was in the right frame of mind to see a real live human, maybe  the message was passed back down the grapevine to the lucky (or not so lucky) seeker of favors. It took two days but I had evidently found favor with the notorious gangster. "Hey there, doll." Big david said, looking up from his plate of ravioli. "Sit down, take a load off. How you been? Some Chianti?" And I shook my head and slid into the booth opposite him at Sterling's Silver Palace Saloon and Restaurant. I'd heard there were gambling tables in the back and call girls and moonshine stills, maybe even movie stars and organ grinders and I was a bit nervous. I didn't want to be caught dead or alive there if the place got raided.

"Everything alright, Big david?" the owner of the joint asked anxiously, leaning on the back of my booth. "More wine? Ravioli? Some dessert,  perhaps? What can I get for your friend here?" Indicating me. Big david swallowed a huge forkful and said, "I'm fine. Tell the man what you want, Sweetheart. It's on me." I turned to look at John Sterling. He was movie star handsome, with a scar that ran from his right eyebrow down to the bottom of his cheek. It didn't ruin his looks like you might think it would but made him even more attractive. There was a palatable fear in his eyes, though, an anxiousness to please that led me to suspect that Big david might have had something to do with that scar. "Black coffee, thanks," I said, meeting his eyes, "With two sugars." "Coming right up." he smiled and hurried away.

I turned back to my host. "About my money....." but he waved his hand and said, "Not while I'm eating ravioli. I never discuss business while eating ravioli." So I waited as he ate and when the coffee had been served, I sipped it quietly and observed the patrons of the establishment. It was an elegant place in a mildly gaudy way. Almost full even at three in the afternoon. Ladies sipped tea, some,  beer and wine. Some were eating pasta and laughing at one another in that semi-high society piety that I so detested. A few of them glared at me as my eyes swept the room while their male companions looked me up and down and nodded their approval. One idiot held up a wine glass and toasted me just before he was struck with a heavy  alligator purse. I was amused and also relieved that it wasn't me getting slugged this time.

 Several tables away, I caught the eye of a dark haired handsome waiter and he turned pale and rushed off into the kitchen like he'd seen a ghost. Then I realized that he was a guy I had dated a couple of years back. I think his name was Mario. The relationship had not ended well, (very few of mine did.) I seemed to recall accidentally knocking his car out of gear as we sat atop Lover's Leap Hill, snuggling then arm wrestling as he tried to get fresh. Somehow, the passenger side door had flown open, I had probably kicked the handle with my foot, and I had fallen out backwards and righted myself and looked up just in time to see the car going over the side of the cliff, Mario's eyes wide as saucers and his sensuous mouth forming a gigantic O.

"I forgot just what a gorgeous dame you are." Big david said, trying to get my attention. He had finished eating and pushed the plate away from his sizable belly. He was a huge man, tanned and tall and muscular. He had short dark hair and eyes the color of bones. Eyes you couldn't look into or you'd die of fright. He was wearing an expensive suit and a unique ring on his right ring finger. It had some sort of odd crest on it. I found myself staring at it, trying to see what it was. He cleared his throat and covered his hand with the other. "Like I say, you sure are a good looking broad. Have you ever thought of going into show business? I have contacts in Hollywood and on Broadway. I could make a few calls.....call in a few favors......"

 He paused to see if I was biting the bait and I shook my head and said, "No thanks. I appreciate it but I'm not very talented, I'm afraid." Silently, in the back of my mind, I was thinking, Lord knows that's the last thing I need:  to go out to Hollywood and run Jimmy Stewart down with my car! My mother would never forgive me. She idolized Jimmy Stewart. Kept trying to fix me up with Jimmy Stewart look-a-likes. It never worked out. I was a 'Robert Mitchum, Marlon Brando' kind of girl. I liked 'em big and bad with not much to say but a whole lot to do. 

Big david was getting antsy. "Let's take a walk." he said trying to get to his feet. "Go down by the waterfront and catch some rats." I tried not to look dismayed so I powdered my nose and said, "Well, as tempting as that offer sounds.....I think I'll have to take a rain check. I have an appointment at five and besides, I already have a pet  mouse named Manny. He and the cat play war games a lot and keep me busy cleaning up. So, I guess I'll just have to say no thanks and run. So....if you could write me out a check....." Big david leaned back in the booth and gave me a strange look. "You turning Big david down, doll? You shouldn't oughta turn Big david down. Big david don't like no rejection, you know?" I swallowed hard and put a fake smile on my face and reached out and touched the mobster's hand, much to my distaste. 

"No, no, nothing like that. I just...I just need my money.... to pay the rent. I did a good job for your sister, didn't I? I found her husband, didn't I? By the way, whatever happened to those two?" I really didn't want to know but I wanted to distract this romeo from his lame-brained ideas. His face lit up. "Oh, yeah, yeah, you did a good thing, there. We was really, you know, appreciative of all your good work, me and Prudence. You know I don't deal with checks, right? But yeah, I got your money, honey. Maybe I just held off paying you so's I could get a look at that sweet puss of yours again, you know?" Oh, geez! I smiled wider, pretending that I was flattered by his revelation. "But what happened to the...to the....husband and the girlfriend?" I drank the dregs of my coffee and looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear our conversation.

"Well, let's just say that those guys took themselves a permanent vacation!" Big david grinned proudly. "They bought themselves some beach front property down in old Mexico!" I gulped and reached in my purse for some gum. "Gee, that's nice." I said, feeling horrible that I had had something to do with that real estate transaction. I had hoped for a messy divorce or something along those lines, not this. But I had been fooling myself. This is the way mobsters solved their problems. It always involved real estate.

 Suddenly, Big david pulled out a huge wad of hundred dollar bills and threw them on the table. "Here, doll, help yourself to whatever you think you deserve!"  I almost fainted. What was I going to do? If I took too many, he'd probably kill me. If I took too few, he'd be insulted. Rats! I couldn't fail this test. It could be hazardous to my health and career. I leaned over and took $2,000 and put it in my purse before I changed my mind.

 I looked up into the gray eyes and a small smile flickered across the big man's face. "You're quite a dame, you know it?" I shrugged. Then he took three more thousand out of the pile and put them in my trembling hands and closed them around the money. "Here's a tip from Big david. You're a good girl. I like you. I might need to ask another favor of you sometime. Now you run on to your appointment and don't worry. Me and you'll go walking down on the waterfront some other time." And he got up, grabbed the rest of the cash, left a hundred dollar bill on the table and signalling to three of his henchmen seated at other tables, walked out with a swagger in his step.

I sat there trying to get myself together as other patrons stared and whispered behind their hands and menus. I heard the term gun moll several times as well as "Do you think Big Sophia knows?"  Oh, good Lord! I looked around for the restrooms and spotting the doorway to the back, hurried in retreat from spying eyes. I touched up my face, combed my hair and washed my hands then made my way down the dark hallway past the phone booths on the left. Something caught my eye. I looked sharply, then slid into the phone booth next to the one in question and left the door cracked. Pretending to use the phone, I inserted coins and rang my own apartment. The man in the next phone booth was dialing frantically with his left hand and tapping a black cane on the floor outside the booth. He was wearing a long black coat, an ugly scarf, had very long wildish hair and I couldn't see his eyes but I was pretty sure they'd be bleary and red. I turned a little bit, nonchalantly, you know, and saw what appeared to be a black bag or satchel on the floor at his feet.

 My heart fluttered in my chest. No, it couldn't be! Could it? "Grandfather Saruman, I've got it!" the strange man suddenly cried out upon reaching his party. "The book! I've got the book! Our secret is safe! Wipe out the rest of those Arehtes and I'll take care of this one and be on the next plane home! I've followed this creature halfway around the world and I'm tired and longing for the fires of Middle Earth!" It was! It was him! The thief I was looking for! Oh, it couldn't be that simple, could it? My cases weren't solved that easily. There was always bloodshed involved, usually mine. I hung up the phone and walked back down the hallway. I waited until the crow-like man turned his back to the door of the booth laughing maniacally at something particularly funny (or heinous) that old Grandfather Saruman had said and then slipped by and caught up the black bag, slung it on my shoulder and practically ran out of the door, across the restaurant and was almost at the exit when there came a terrifying shout. "Stop, thief!"

I ran as fast as my high heels could carry me. The tall figure in black tore out of the restaurant with a disbelieving look on his ugly face. I looked back at him once and then crossed the street in the middle of traffic, darting in and out, ignoring curses and wolf whistles. The man in black was not so fortunate. They didn't think he was that cute. They tried to hit him. He shook the long cane at them and screamed in rage. The sky suddenly became darkened and a peal of thunder seemed to shake the ground beneath my feet. I was almost a block away when he appeared practically behind me. "No way!" I thought and ran faster. There were six people between us. One of them was a cop. I hurriedly slid my own purse inside the black bag and kept stepping. "Stop that woman!" the villain yelled at the policeman as he gained on us. "She's a thief!"

 The cop started running after me, the macabre figure close behind him. Then the cop stopped and looked at him, startled. "What did she steal....your purse?" The man stopped and composed himself. "Y..y...yes." He said, pointing his nose in the air. "Yes, she did." He sniffed like he couldn't believe he was being confronted by a mere mortal. I crossed the street again and shouted back, "But I only stole back the purse that you had first stolen!" And I ran like the wind. When I looked back, three more cops had joined the first one and they had the figure in black down on his knees with his hands behind his back. He was sobbing. "Noooooooooo!" he cried with that terrible face looking in my direction. "Nooooooo! It cannot be!" And I laughed and held up the bag, "Oh, but it is!" And then I ran into the side of a brick building and knocked myself unconscious.


TO BE CONTINUED..............in Episode Five

david from myspace...

                                 Big david the mobster

                    Boris Karloff as Sauron

Gary Cooper 
as John Sterling       

                                           John Sterling                                                                                

Who Wouldn't Love You?

Kay Kyser

AACHOO VOO, PRIVATE EYE Episode three

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye 

Episode Three


     I was sitting in my office filing my nails when there came a soft knock on the door. My office was on the first floor of my apartment building, situated between a cafe/sandwich shop/dirty ole man hang out called Clapsaddles and The Sit and Spin Automated Laundry Mat and Lost Sock Depository  and somewhat adjacent to the Alaskan Relief Charity foundation thing. (What kind of relief Alaska needed, I wasn't quite up to par on yet) (more blubber, perhaps?) but I dropped the occasional quarter in the donations bucket shaped like an igloo out in front of their door. There was rarely anyone ever in the office as far as I could tell.  (They were probably up in Alaska, delivering the quarters, no doubt.) But I believed in the sowing and reaping principle myself, and only hoped that should the occasion ever arise, that Alaska would be there for me.

Getting to my office was like running through a maze, everything was at all angles, the elevator rarely worked, washing machines flooded the hallways on a regular basis, little old ladies got mugged bi-weekly for their dimes as they sat waiting for the dryers to stop and hoping their flannel undies didn't catch on fire.The wastrels that frequented Clapsaddles roamed around at all hours trying to catch some girl wandering in the maze looking for a way out. (And let's face it, it was usually me.)  All that whistling and pinching and groping got annoying after a while and I'd let out a good scream and the little old ladies would run out of the S&S and beat the hell outta them with their dime filled purses.

 I kept complaining to Harold, the manager/cook/under the counter bartender/pt time therapist/owner of the dump but he just grinned and wiped his hands on an apron that had seen it's share of battlefields and did nothing. (Imagine my face when I was eventually told that he gave free buttered toast to anyone that could make me scream the loudest.) They said he actually kept a graph.

The one small window my office boasted faced a lovely alleyway with a breath taking view of trash cans and cats of every size and description. In fact, that's where I had found, excuse me, rescued, my own crazy feline pet, Wiener. I had noticed a commotion one day while sitting at my desk doodling and moseyed over and discovered that a veritable gang of hoodlum-like kitty cats was mauling the stuffing out of this one skinny orange character and screaming like a pack of seagulls after a meal with gills. He was lying there holding on for dear life to this long, red frankfurter, fur was flying, people were throwing pails of water down out of windows trying to shush the racket, trash cans were overturned, whistles were blowing, winos were halting in the middle of their hangovers to watch. I swear, if they could have, those cats would have been wearing black leather jackets and carrying switchblades. They were that mean.

 "Shoo!" I yelled at the mob, waving my arms and kicking at them with my high heels. "Stop it, you pack of rat eaters! Leave him alone!" And I swooped down and picked up the poor little guy and ran back to my office with him, wiener and all. And you know the rest of the story. (Don't you?) I named him Wiener. Duh!
But I digress, as usual..............
                                              

I was supposed to be working on my filing cabinet that day but I just couldn't get into alphabetizing and opening drawers and stuff. It seemed like too much work. So I had pulled out a nail file instead and began working on my long sharp nails. I was going for the scratch-your-eyes-out look. The knock came again. "Yes?" I said, perturbed at the interruption. "Come in." And in walked the strangest little man I had ever seen. He was barely three feet six if he was that, he had shaggy dark hair, big ears and enormous blue eyes. He was wearing short pants and a heavy coat and his huge feet were shod with the most bizarre furry sandals. At least, I thought they were sandals. I couldn't stop staring. I sat there in amazement, nail file suspended in the air, my mouth open. The little man was holding a brown bowler hat in his hands and his bottom lip trembled with emotion. He looked at the floor and waited for me to get over my astonishment. (He seemed to be familiar with the reaction.)

"Hello. What may I do for you, Mr....Mr......" and I stopped. "Arehte," he said softly, "Mr. Bilbo Arehte." "Mr. Arehte!" I smiled, "What an unusual name! What kind of name is that?" "It's Elvish, ma'am." he answered and he looked up and his big blue eyes were brimming over with tears. "Elvis?" I asked, puzzled. "No, ma'am, Elvish." he replied."Oh!" I said, "Of course. Elvish. R.r..right........" And I put down the nail file, clasped my hands together and sat up straighter in the swivel chair. "Please. Have a seat, Mr. Arehte." I offered, pointing to the tall, velvet chair to the left of my desk. "And then you can tell me how I may be of service." For some ten long minutes or so, I watched as the little man attempted to get up into the chair and seat himself. It was quite comical, at times alarming, and finally, he gave it one more shot and jumped up and turned himself around and gave me a look that said, "A small triumph! And it is mine!" and then looked down at his feet in humility. I was strangely touched and ducked my head and pretended that I hadn't seen a thing.

"What seems to be the problem and why do you have need of a private investigator?" I asked as seriously as I could. "Because the police won't help." he said matter-of-factly. "I've begged them and all they do is laugh at me and refer me to Children's Services!" Then he huffed. "Madam, I am muchly aged ! I have been robbed and I mean to have my possession returned to me!" I tried not to widen my eyes but they did anyway and I cleared my throat and leaned forward in what I hoped was a compassionate pose. "And what was the item that was stolen from you, Mr. Arehte?"

He looked at the floor again and then at the ceiling and then again at the floor before finally meeting my eyes. Then he kind of whispered and I had to listen very closely to hear what he said. "It's an original unpublished J.R.R. Tolkien manuscript." And when I didn't respond, "It was his first book, written when he was a mere child in West Midlands. Way before The Book of Lost Tales. Long before Lord of the Rings! It's titled "Saruman and the Coal Truck! And it's priceless!" And when I still didn't respond, he shouted in his high pitched little voice, "Don't you know who Tolkien is?!"

 And I had to be honest. I said, "Sorry, I've never heard of him. Is he a big band leader?" And he gave me a disgusted look and then fidgeted on the chair for a moment and then apologized and said in a controlled manner, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I  keep forgetting that humans cannot see into the future." And I said, "What?!" And he jumped down from the chair and put his pudgy hands on the desk and looked me straight in the cleavage. "Are you going to help me or not?" and I kind of looked around helplessly for a moment, totally taken aback and stuttered, "Sure. I'll do my best. I mean, it's only a book, right?" And he gave a small groan and said, "Right! And the Taj is only a Mahal!!"

So I ran next door to Clapsaddle's and bought him some milk and a cookie and tried to calm him down as best I could. I was sure that I was interacting with one sick puppy in desperate need of medical attention.  (Of the shrinky kind.) But I was fascinated. He ate the cookie very politely and drank the milk slowly and deliberately like he was trying to decide how much to tell me. When he had finished, he looked at me from where he had seated himself on a box of paint thinner that I had neglected to take home. The milk mustache was distracting but he wasn't aware of it and began giving me details concerning the case so quickly that I had trouble keeping up and jotting them down in my notebook.

 My shorthand was not very short but I was using my own personal scribble that no one but myself could decipher (and sometimes even I had to run upstairs and ask the parrot to interpret the squiggles.) He waited patiently for me to finish writing and then asked again in a much softer voice, "So, Miss Voo, can you help me or not?" "I think I can, " I answered, "You've given me a lot of information, which is always helpful. When did you say the theft occurred?" "Day before yesterday at my hotel." he said as he got to his feet.
 "I'm positive that it was Saruman's grandson, Sauron. He followed me from New Zealand when I booked passage on the ocean liner. I never saw him on board but I caught a glimpse of him as I checked into the hotel. My neighbors had seen a strange man in black, with long wild hair and reddish eyes lurking about my garden back home and I knew then that they had somehow discovered my whereabouts. The Sarumans, that is."

 "You see, they own all the coal mines in England. They are very wealthy, very despicably evil people. John Ronald had found them out and wrote about them in his book. Reuel, ( I called him Reuel,) and I were very close as children. His family lived near mine, all the boys and men in the village worked at the coal mines, you see, and eventually we began to notice that many of them would go to work and never come back. Reuel and I would sneak away and watch the coal trucks going to and fro, with all those strange letters on them, and wondering why our friends' fathers were vanishing like that. Well, Reuel found out why!"

"Why?" I asked breathlessly, hooked line and sinker now.  The little man paced back and forth, holding his hands behind him and told a story that was half fairy tale, half science fiction and half.....oh, wait, you can't have three halves, can you? Okay, let's make that a third fairy tale, a third science fiction and a third, uh...a third, um...... Oh, rats! Whatever it was, it made my heart pound and I almost half believed it. Apparently, the Saruman empire was huge and their lavish but gloomy estate was laid out in the isolated countryside,  yet not a great distance from the boys' humble lodgings in the village.

 My client's description of the gigantic black castle with it's high towers and loud and fearsome furnaces was quite terrifying, even if it were fairy-tale-ish. (Actually, I found him a better story teller than The Shadow Knows play actor on the radio drama.) I found myself wishing I had some popcorn. "One day I heard the sad news that my friend and his family was moving away." Mr. Arehte continued. "His father had passed away in South Africa and my old dad and granddad had kind of taken him under their wings, so to speak and we were all quite fond of him. He had such an imagination, he did! I was very distraught to hear the news.

 The night before the family left, Reuel came knocking on my window at midnight and when I opened it, he appeared very agitated and frightened. He produced a brown paper wrapped bundle out from under his coat, tied with string, (the bundle, that is,) and handed it to me and told me to hide it where no one could ever find it. He said that the Sarumans could never know about it and must never find out what he had discovered about their evil empire. Then he shook my hand and said to me, "Don't ever grow old, Bilbo." and fled into the night." 

"Uh- huh." I said, enthralled and motioned for him to go on with my nail file. Unfortunately in the doing,  I poked myself in the eyebrow with it and then caught it in my hair. I tried to extract it gracefully and he tried to pretend he didn't notice but we both failed miserably in our attempts. Embarrassed, I dropped a pencil on the floor and dropped down behind my desk and fought valiantly to get the nail file out of my hair without making too much noise. Victorious at last, I popped back up holding nail file and pencil, plopped back down in my chair and clasped my hands under my chin and murmured, "Do go on, Mr Arehte."

Moments later, I glanced at the window, caught my reflection and to my horror, saw that my usually neat and wavy hair now resembled a movie werewolf's in mid transformation!  I grabbed a comb out of the desk drawer and went to work frantically on my coiffure. Mr. Arehte had been busying himself inspecting the paint thinner box and my paperback detective novel collection, all the while hiding a tiny smile as best he could. Finally he turned and continued. "The package contained a manuscript. The one I now ask you to retrieve for me. It contains a complete expose on the goings on in West Midlands and thereabouts. A complete history of our village and the townspeople. It's written in novel form but believe me, miss, it's really more of a biography about my family and our friends."

"I had no idea that Reuel was writing it in his spare time or that we had inspired him so. It's a wonderful book and one that probably gave birth to all his other books and stories but one that, up until now...... was probably never meant to be published. At least, I've never thought that J.R.R. would want it published. I don't know. Maybe he's forgotten that it even exists. Maybe it was meant to be a gift to me and nothing more. At any rate, I think the time has come to act. That's why I came to this city seeking a publisher and a journalist who could help me expose this corrupt family and all their heinous deeds. There is a young lady, an old family friend, who works at one of your largest newspapers here and she's promised to help me. I was bringing the book to her to read. That's what....." And he stopped and let the tears fall down his face, washing away his little white milk mustache and looking so forlorn that I wanted to put my arms around him and hug him but I was afraid I'd break him.

"I will help you, Mr. Arehte." I assured him, wondering if that were true. "I promise!" "Thank you for your kindness." he whispered and wiped his face with a small white handkerchief. "After losing my parents last year in the mountains, I've been at a loss as to what path my life should take. Now, I've just recently learned that my cousins and nephews back in the village have gone to work for the Saruman Mining Company and several of them have gone missing....I must do something! I know what is happening to them and I have to stop it! I must!" "There, there." I comforted him in my most soothing voice as he stopped and stood before my desk in the late afternoon light.

 "Tell me, what happened to your parents? Was it a mountain climbing accident?" He was silent for a long time and then turned thoughtfully to look out of the small window while standing on his tippy toes. "No. It was dragons." he said barely above a whisper. I shook my head twice. I could have sworn he'd said....dragons but that was ridiculous. "Did you say....?" I gulped but he combed at his mustache and gave me a sweet and curious smile. Then he handed me a sheaf of notes and papers out of his pockets and said, "This should help you find the fiendish Sauron and get my manuscript back. And this is for your trouble."

 And he withdrew a beautiful shiny object out of a small velvet bag and laid it on my desk. It was exquisite. A long silver chain with a pendant shaped like a vine and flower. In the center of the flower sparkled a jewel more brilliant than a diamond. I had never seen anything so beautiful. I took the object in my hand and electricity ran through me and light and joy and visions of riding through the forest on horseback with my long hair blowing in the breeze. The moon was full and shining and I was laughing at a man who rode a silver horse running in front of me. There was a stream and a bird and a........

"What did you say?" I asked pulling myself out of the fantasy. I suddenly felt very lightheaded. More so than usual. The little man was standing in the open doorway about to depart, turning to look at me, smiling that curious smile. "I said, thank you, Miss Voo, for accepting this quest. I knew I had chosen wisely and I know you'll find my precious treasure and return it to me. You know where to reach me." And he put the little bowler hat on his head and said softly just before the door closed, "Namaarie..... Amvanya heri nartyë." And he was gone.


TO BE CONTINUED in episode four...........
                  
           Mr Arehte   

         

Rodger "Arehte" Ashton-Smith

                                from myspace and New Zealand

                         (Tolkien fanatic like myself)

 (my apologies to my beloved J.R.R.Tolkien................................smile)

************************************************************

btw: Arehte is pronounced Ar-uh-tay which means.......uh......um.....something.
 psst!!!! Rodger??? What does it mean???
*********************************************** Points for those who find the reference and/or references to another of my online stories in this episode!!!! 

Special thanks for the use of specific names:

CLAPSADDLE, Harold, Tolkien, Bilbo

and

Weiner

(you know who you are!!)

Tenna' ento lye omenta

(until next we meet in Elvish)

The Quest by David Arkenstone

AACHOO VOO, PRIVATE EYE Episode 2

Aachoo Voo, Private Eye
Episode Two
                                                                                             

                                                                         

     Lance was cool. He didn't bat an eye. (Well, actually, he did but he always did that for effect.) "I'll be back," he said softly, "you know, you really are hard on a guy. This is the third pair of pants I've lost at your place." And I blushed, remembering the jelly incident and the slamming the door on his pants leg incident and the....well, that was enough remembering for now. Like I said, me and laundry just didn't get along. Maybe it was all that innate rebellion stemming from childhood and the fact that gathering up dirty clothes to wash had been a hated chore.

Most of the time I just gathered them up and threw them in the furnace but there came that day when my dad was late for work and couldn't find a thing to wear and  the jig was up. I was grounded for a month and my mom made me learn to sew and make all my own clothes for the rest of the school year. It was not a pretty story. Most of the time, I went around looking like the scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz.


Which was an embarrassment, especially to my mother, because she was born into high society and despised the lower classes, which included her in-laws. We were in a class by ourselves, of course, but still, that particular punishment backfired on her and she tried to keep me out of the public eye as much as possible. My Dad thought it was a terrible thing for her to do because he adored me, and kept slipping me money to "Go buy yourself something pretty." But I just saved up to buy myself something I would really need in the future. It was my junior year and I sneaked out to the Ayers' Used but Lovely Resale shop and bought myself a prom dress that didn't have discernible stitches and upside down zippers and told my mother that I had made it with my own little fingers.  But I digress........(It was an interesting year.)

The parrot snickered at me as the side door closed and I snickered back and turned on the radio to drown him out. I noticed the water in the fish tank was mysteriously low and the fish were kinda gasping for air and had drawn little frownie faces in the algae. I refilled the thing and threw in some fish food and erased their artwork and went to get the mail. I was looking for a check from Big david, the mobster who spelled his name with a little d. I had done some work for his sister and he'd promised to mail me some moo-la. I didn't much like his kind but his sister Prudence was nice enough. The case concerned her cheating husband, Ricky and the fact that he had gone on vacation with her worst best friend after cleaning out the bank account. I found the two louses on the beach in Mexico.


I had actually found them on my second day there but didn't report back to Prudence until eleven days had passed. I needed a vacation and the lovebirds needed to get all that pent up passion out of their systems before Big david shot 'em. I thought that was the least I could do. Neither one of them had two brain cells to rub together. He was short and she was tall. He was an accountant and she was no account. They were perfect for one another.
The check was not in the mail.


I picked up the newspaper and noticed a handsome face on the front page. It looked vaguely familiar. Very familiar, actually. Said the face had been found murdered the night before by a night watchman on his rounds at Marshall's Hardware and Hat Emporium. That was where I bought all my furniture refinishing products and the occasional hat. No wonder the face looked familiar. It belonged to Si, the shellacking specialist. A smooth talker, if there ever was one. A fairly nice guy but there was something about his shifty eyes that gave me the shivers.


 He flirted with you from the time you walked in the door until you bought twenty five cans of Shellac and then insisted upon delivering your purchase to your place of residence. All the time trying to impress you with his extensive knowledge of wood and how to care for it. He looked like a would-be movie star but there was just something.......you couldn't put your finger on it, no matter how hard he tried to get you to put your finger on it.....you just couldn't. Like I said, he had shifty eyes. They darted. They looked you up and down. Undressed you and dressed you again in satin.


I shuddered, remembering the last time I'd seen him. That would have been last Saturday. I needed to strip my neighbor's old chest that he had been bugging me about and I was all out of sandpaper and stripper and had run in to the store that afternoon hoping someone other than Si would be behind the counter. No such luck. "Well, hello there, you good looking, thirst quenching, pretty polished piece of fine furniture!" he said exuberantly as I stepped inside. "How may I be of service?" And I blanched. At least I think I did. I'm not really sure what blanch means but it sounds appropriate. "Just need a few items, thank you." I said as unfriendly-like as I could manage but it didn't put him off. He was on me like ugly on a baboon's bottom. Came out from behind that counter, took my arm, and led me back to where we usually ended up, the Tung Oil aisle.

"Listen, Miss Voo, I need help and you're the only one that can help me!" he whispered urgently, as he looked around to see if anyone was near. I didn't think much about it at the time because he always said that to me but thinking back now, it was pretty obvious that he'd actually meant it.  I just hadn't been in the mood to help him. Now he was dead. The paper said he had been found in a pool of paint thinner. He wasn't wearing any socks. He had been clutching a folder full of receipts and a corkscrew. I felt bad. Not bad bad but pretty bad. I wondered who had killed him and why.


 I  also wondered if I'd been the only girl he'd sold Shellac to and flirted with so relentlessly. I wondered if he'd just flirted with the wrong girl this time. On the other hand, he'd probably been married, guys like him always are, no matter what they say or how hard they try to hide their missing wedding band tan lines with furniture polish. You could always tell. It had been the wife, I was sure of it. Too bad. He was a doll dizzy creep but he sure knew his wood grains.


I shook my head and put the paper down and went to change out of the pink bathrobe. I had twelve of them hanging in the closet. Pretty soon, I'd need to replenish my supply. I hoped they still carried my size and style at the bathrobe shop. I had bought up their entire stock last time I was there. I told them I was buying them for gifts. (It was none of their business.)
I threw the soiled pink robe into the trash and stood there naked, looking for something jazzy to put on. I had a movie date with Andy at four. He was sweet. I liked him and he liked me. We had been out twice and neither time had I set him on fire or tripped him with my long legs or turned his clothes into rags. I was the epitome of grace with him and it felt wonderful. Yes, I was looking forward to this afternoon's matinee and the smell of popcorn and aftershave.

I forgot the day's headline about Si, the Shellac salesman and his untimely demise, and giggled happily as I put on my hose. Then the phone rang. And I heard the bird in the kitchen say, "Pick up the phone. What am I, your slave?" Stupid bird. "Answer it yourself!" I shot back and fell in a tangle of hose and garter belt and a box of bath powder and an open bottle of turpentine that came down from the counter at the same time that I did. Well, at least I didn't have on socks when I got into the shower this time.


                                                                           

                                                                                 

TO BE CONTINUED......in episode three

STARRING in our cast of characters.................
                                friends from myspace and other sites
                                      and personal friends and family members

david, Si, Lance Strait, Voo, Andy, the fish and the un named parrot


david   "qzert" from myspace                                 
                                                                    and

        Richard Bellamy as 

Big david the mobster

                                                                                           

 Si (the poet no one could impress)
from myspace...................    

                        

                      And Craig Stevens as Si the Shellac salesman

Andy of myspace land 
The Last Digital Bastion    

 Ray Milland as young Andy

special note of thanks to the following for use of their names:

********Ayers and Marshall*********

(Rusty and Linda)

and Prudence

                                          

THE STORY OF THE STORM

The Story of the Storm

I hear it now, the thunder roaring

Warning me of rain to come

Warning me of winds to blow

Waiting for you here at home

 I hold my breath, anticipating

Waiting for the drops to fall

The first hot hits of  lovely lightning

The violent wind to howl it's call

And where are you, my best beloved

In this prologue of gothic weather?

Are your ears tuned in to the thunder

As my heart aches to be together?

You know how I love the thunder 

And I've always danced in rain

Never feared a lightning bolt

And  how a storm takes away my pain

Look, the skies grow darker now

See the clouds scroll back to let

The rain pour down on dry dust as

I run out into the wet

Ah, there it comes, the  pouring rain

And here it comes, the wanting you

And there you are, the welcomed home

Into my hungry arms on cue

And the tale is told

And the deed is done

And the end finds it's place

In the sleep of the sun

But what of the epilogue

And what of the end?

When the storm has passed over

And has taken the wind?

Will we lie down in wonder

Or cower in fear

That the storm sought to keep you

From meeting me here?

For the same thing that l love

That I anticipate

Will one day take you from me

And that storm I'll berate

But of this we don't know now

And you will never see

As we lie in the aftermath

Of the storm, you and me.

©By Voo

June 12, 2017

5:22  p.m.

Written just now

as I listen to the thunder rolling in

and to the first raindrops fall

As The Thunder Rolls guitar instrumental

AACHOO VOO, PRIVATE EYE EPISODE ONE

Think Dead Men Don't Wear  Plaid and the 1940s and you'll get it.................enjoy!!

                       Peter Gunn theme by The Blues Brothers



Aachoo Voo, Private Eye
Episode 1


      It was starting out to be one of those days. You know the kind. The kind where you get in the shower with your socks on and don’t even realize it until you notice the soaking wet footprints all over the newly cleaned living room carpet. The cat gave me one of those “you-know-I-hate-water looks and dove under the bed to play with the dust bunnies. The dog, however, eyed me adoringly and slopped up the Evening in Paris scented tracks with gusto and a couple of bubbles oozed out between his teeth but he seemed happy enough.

I shrugged and took off my wet socks and threw them in the trash. I wasn’t big on doing laundry. I’d rather buy new stuff than tote baskets down to the Sit and Spin and watch little old ladies get mugged as their machines cycled down. I wasn’t thrifty but I was practical. That’s what everybody said about me. Except my Mom.

I was stirring up some pancake batter and frying some swine when I heard a knock on the door. Not the front door. The side door where only men that were up to no good knocked. We’ve all got one of those, don’t we? (Doors, I mean.) “Come in!” I yelled as I poured the sweet batter into the hot, sizzling skillet and removed the bacon almost at the same time from the other pan. I had skills. Everybody said so.

The door swung open and there stood Lance, twirling a white coffee cup on his pinkie finger and looking like he’d just had a rough night with Marilyn Monroe. He lived upstairs but he was hardly ever there. I didn’t know what he did for a living but I was a witness that the boy knew how to live. I have to admit it, he was a pretty thing, tall and dark, with a swagger in his walk and a come-hither look in his eyes that made me weak in the bread basket. Oh, he was a little rough, maybe, a little splintered, but I wanted to throw him down on top of the cabinet and give him a good shellacking. (Oh, did I mention I’m into furniture refinishing as a hobby?)

                                         

    

“I…I..was running low and I thought I’d stop by for a fill up.” he smiled that crooked little smile of his and I dropped a pancake somewhere in the vicinity of my big toe. It was hot, it burned like hell, but I didn’t mind. “Sure,” I murmured, “help yourself.” and pointed towards the percolator. As he poured the steaming black, hot coffee into his cup, I turned, hiding my face as I silently screamed in pain and took the pancake off my bare foot and threw it to the dog. He gulped it gratefully and then gave me a look between “Oh, thank you! and What the hell!?” The phone rang. It was in the living room. Lance said, “You gonna get that, Sugar?” And I stood there, undecided and let it ring twelve more times. It was probably my mother. She always called at that time of morning. And every hour after that. She had no life. And consequently, neither did I.

Lance walked into the living room, carrying his cup and looked intensely at the phone like he could tell who had been calling just by looking at it. “One of your big cases, no doubt.” he shrugged and sat down on my tweed sofa. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen and said, “No doubt. Have a seat and I’ll join you in a minute.” I ran to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on my flushed face, combed back my tousled hair and slathered bacon grease all over my neck. (I knew what guys liked.)

I straightened my pink bathrobe and put on some Pink Frappe lipstick that I kept a tube of in the corner drawer. “Aachoo?” Lance called out and the parrot that my mom had gifted me with said, “Bless you!” even though he knew it irritated me to no end. He was big and gray and a slob. His cage was always a mess and he ate me out of house and home. “Be quiet.” I shushed him as I entered the living room and turned my back to the bird. He squawked and threw a peanut at me but i ignored him and smiled hesitantly at my guest.

“What can I do for you, Lance?” I wondered out loud, not realizing that I was merely wondering out loud and hadn’t really said anything. “I guess you’re wondering why I stopped by so early…..” he said somberly, even though it was already 10:30 but then people like us didn’t believe in early birds and getting worms and that kind of thing. We were Afternooners. Night owls. Midnight riders. Children of the night. Gumshoes. Well, I was a gumshoe. I had no idea how he made his living. There were rumors. There was talk.

 The big blousy bleached blonde down the hall who didn’t like anybody liked him and was always pulling me aside and asking if I’d seen him. “Have you seen Lancy?” she’d ask in her coy and disturbing manner. “I haven’t seen him around in days and I have something I need to give him.” And she’d bat those four inch eyelashes and I’d get a little ill in my tummy. I always told her that I thought he had run off to get married. (I had a mean streak no mother could ever spank outta me.)

“Yes, I was wondering about that. ” I said softly and brushed back my wavy dark hair as his eyes met mine over the white coffee cup. “Would you like some more?” I offered, meaning coffee, but the look he gave me said he was there for a whole lot more of a whole lot more. “I sure would, Sugar!” he grinned and handed me the cup. “I’ll take all you got this morning! I’ve had a very long and adventurous night and I’m running on fumes.” For some reason, that kinda upset me and I hoped he wouldn’t go into detail but he seemed in a talkative mood.

He followed me into the small yellow kitchen and as I refilled his cup, he stood behind me so closely I could feel his day old stubble on the back of my head. “Man, you smell good enough to eat!” he exclaimed and breathed deeply of my essence. I was glad I had put on the bacon perfume. It was an old trick and it worked every time. I cleared my throat and turned to him quickly, spilling the hot black coffee all down the front of my bathrobe but I pretended not to notice. He took the empty cup from my hand, set it down and began to dab at the spill with a dish rag, never taking his brown eyes off mine. “You don’t burn easy, do you?” he breathed noisily and I breathed back just as noisily, “No, I reckon not. I’m a girl that keeps her cool.” 

“Oh, Aachoo!” he murmured seductively, raking his hand through my hair and from the corner of the kitchen, the bird merrily called out, “Bless you!” “Shut up!” we both shouted at the same time and went back to whatever we were doing. I pulled away then and he kind of groaned a little cause my bathrobe button had caught on his zipper and ripped it out of his pants. It was one of those things that frequently happened to me. I didn’t know why.

                                       It just did.

©By Voo
Nov 9, 08
                               

                                              
Lance (Tony Curtis)

my friend Professor Lance Strait as Lance>>

           

me (Voo) as Aachoo Voo.........(of course)

                                        and Cleo Moore as The Blonde down the hall......


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                                                                           Woof!

Old Radio Show 
Sam Shovel
thanks JR!!!