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Chanelling Mike Hammer
I was sitting at my desk, trying to decide whether the level of the booze in the bottle was below the bottom of the label. Nothing else to do until I got a new case. Lately, they all had been jealous wives or hubbies, asking me to check up on their spouses. Not too exciting, but it pays the rent. The only diversion had been that barmaid, but that had ended up as nothing but trouble.
The knock on my office door jarred me back to semi-consciousness. I quickly stubbed out the cigarette, stashed the bottle and the glass in my lower drawer and lurched toward the door. I quickly checked myself in the mirror. Not bad, except for the still obvious bruises. At least that barmaid's boyfriend looked worse than I did. I straightened my tie and opened the door.
This guy walked in, and asked me if I work on murder cases. When I assured him that I did, he introduced himself.
"My name is METIRISH"
I knew right away that he wasn't American, when he said "It sure is cold, begorrah."
He sat down and started to explain what had happened. Some guy had offed someone named SAL, right there in cyberspace. I asked him to tell me more, and he proceeded to tell me all about the CPF, its members and its importance.
"Now that we're the most erudite baseball website, we don't want any bad publicity. We need someone who can wrap up the investigation quickly and" he continued "discretely". He summarized what had happened to date. They had reviewed the membership list and had tried to figure out who was where when the murder was committed. Almost everyone was accounted for.
I tried to figure out the motive, and came to the conclusion that the murderer had to be someone who considered other team moles to be a threat. It had to be someone who roots for a team in the NL East, and who frequents the CPF. Several names came to mind. It would have been too obvious to kill one of the Bosox or Yankee players, but someone wanted to warn them about being too good this year. This was a warning shot.
I remembered what that Limey bastard/ coke-addict Sherlock Homes had said, "When you have ruled out all the possibilities, consider the impossible." We went through the list again.
Then it came to me. "This was in a locker room, right?" I asked. "Men only?"
METIRISH nodded "yes".
I went over the list again. What about the broads? My eye focused on one name. I grabbed my coat.
"Let's go' I said, "we're going to New Jersey. Do you mind if I smoke in the car?"
I didn't wait for an answer, and lit another butt.
***
IRISH and I walked up the steps to SCARLET's house. As we were about to ring the bell, we heard someone behind us say "Hi Guys!" We turned around, and there she was, book bag in arms, returning from school. He introduced me, and she looked surprised. "I thought you'd look different."
When we went inside, she offered us a drink of fruit juice and we went into the living room. I thought "so that's what the pure stuff tastes like." We told her we were there to ask a few questions about the killing of the SAL. She said "okay" and started to unload her book bag. I started the questioning slowly, and absentmindedly began thumbing through her text book in order to put her at ease. I thought, "Gee, they sure put a different spin on things since I was in school." But as I continued, she seemed to get more and more nervous, I picked up the pace. Finally, I asked where she had been on the night of the crime.
She suddenly began to cry.
"I'd just come back from a Springsteen concert." she began. "I don't know what happened. Maybe I just inhaled some second hand, er, smoke. Then I remembered there was a CPF get-together going on and went over there. I couldn't find anybody, and decided to peek into the mens’ locker room. When I looked inside, I saw this "monster". He reminded me of Rudy Gulianni, resplendent in Yankee garb. It was horrible." She looked like she was going to faint.
"Are you all right?" IRISH asked. She assured us that she was okay. She went on. "Doc had given me his pistol, for protection at the concert. I don't know what happened, but when I saw that thing, it was in my hand. I fired and ran away as fast as I could."
"Where's the gun now" I asked. She reached into the book bag and said "Right ……HERE!!!!!"
She spun around and pointed it at me. I saw the flash as I dove for the floor. All of a sudden, I felt a searing pain in my head and everything went dark.
I woke up in a daze. "Gee", I thought, "this place smells like the bathroom floor of a cheap bar." Then I realized that I WAS on a bathroom floor, my head resting on the edge of the toilet. The place was vaguely familiar, and it was decorated with what looked like remnants of last night's pizza. I checked myself in the mirror. I had a big bruise on my temple where I must have hit it on the toilet. I still didn't know where I was, but I rinsed off my face and went through the door.
There was IRISH, face down on the table, surrounded by the remains of three bottles of Yukon Jack and four cases of Harp. My eyes were good enough to see that there was nothing left to use as the "hair of the dog". I wondered whether IRISH would remember if we had fun. I glance down, and saw the list of CPF members on the table. Now I remembered. This was my hotel room. We'd stopped off for liquid refreshment and were going to visit SCARLET this afternoon.
SCARLET. Had it all been a dream?
The End?
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Later
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