THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 10 ~ ~ "THE PISSING MATCH" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

  The *INTRIGUE*

u n w i n d s

PRESENTING

OUR

  * MURDER *
 * MYSTERY * 

* MATINEE *

 

 "THE PRINTS

 AND THE POPPER" 

FROM WHERE WE LEFT OFF

 IN OUR LAST CLIFFHANGER

*AT THE BIJOU*

CATCHING UP ON CLIFFHANGERS?

CLICK EPIC*SODES BELOW:

    

Epic'sode 9 ~ Chain, Chain, Chain 
Epic'sode 8 ~ Too Cool!

Epic'sode 7 ~ Meet Virginia
Epic'sode 6 ~ I See the Light

Epic'sode 5 ~ Lucky Shot
Epic'sode 4 ~ Hi Jinks

Epic'sode 3 ~ Groping Against Grope
Epic'sode 2 ~ The Clot Thickens
  
and the original mystery of it all ~ 

 Epic'sode 1 ~

 THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER

 

 

 

~ ~ EPIC*SODE 10 ~ ~

" The Pissing Match "

~ By Absolutely*Kate 

and 
Harry B. Sanderford

TAKES TWO? ~ tempting pic ala frecklescorp

Penelope Payne was no average newshound dame. She knew the best bark to sustain the loudest sound-bite always came from following the money. Big buck$ must've brought or bought the hotshot InterNoir star at the bar, Paul Caracas, into seemingly sleepy Hazelton for a reason this season. But what?  By whom? And when? Why this wise guy? Why now? I wish Carrie were here ~ I need a nosy accomplice for newsing around.
 
Payne got lucky at The Lucky. Or was it those manifesting nuggets over chance and circumstance Kate tried to tell her about during the last BIJOU interview of what was up ... or what could be?

  
The door opened from night to noise with a swoooooosh and a hail from the rather bright-eye disheveled Clevenger gal acting almost as if there was a push behind that swoosh. She barreled right into the bar instead of bellying up to it and what Caracas was sipping soon puddled as slop on the floor.
 
"Yikes! Sorry sir! Here, let me help sop you up from the mess I made and buy you another. Ant? Hey, rather snazzy suit you're sporting sport ~ Where'd you say you're from?" whooshed from the swoosh of clever Clevenger replacing the Caracas ID dossier precisely into InterNoir's inner pocket. The Phantom AT THE BIJOU had taught her well. Took about seventeen practice runs, but she'd nailed it and was priming to celebrate the feat of this new fate of unpickpocketing. Hey there's Penny ~ I gotta go let her know how priceless this move was.
 
Caracas knew a pat down from a put down and while accepting barkeep Venutolo's top shelf gin with a grin vs alacrity - nice of the bloke to switch what he was pouring when this dizzy dame swooshed in -- put his mind to sipping the cause of the commotion's motion.
 
"Who is that gal, Anthony? Wasn't she the inebriated billiards babe who deliquidated the establishment earlier?"
 
Ant leaned in and let some good vibes roll as to what he cared to tell in tale of Carrie. He hadn't quite got his fix on Mr InterNoir here, but knew when a fishin' was fixin' to get a little sumthin' on the line.
 
Stine caught the chance of  the Caracas glance do a surreptious tilt over the ladies way. Oh yes, the tilt is afoote. I mean the game is afoote. That's the rub, Bub. Sheer luck at The Lucky. Watchin' this ringer's bells go off. The night's no longer young, but the good, ya know they die young and the bad guys got a long way to go. Sergeant Stine had it in his mind to just sit back, sip his signature Schweppes gingerale mocked up into a real drink - bless that Anthony when surveillance needed to go sly, he was an alright guy. Yeah he was gonna just watch the show. Penny and Carrie weren't giggling Dixie Chicks over there to the juke box but layin' down some tracks of what was shakin'. Payne's notebook was seeing a lot of forward slant action.
 
What was that breeze though?
In the shadows Lieutenant Phillips watched them all, the whole shebang of this laughable gang. After buoying the bevy of beauts up AT THE BIJOU, getting all his words in as straight as edgewise can adeptly answer with Kate, Sugar, Zelda and that real nice Mrs Poe rapid-firing questions as fast as they could snap, crackle, shoot, he needed a hot toddy before last call. Little Lucky wonder there'd be more show in this long day of murder, mystery and mayhem to still play out. What was Stine doing with such a Cheshire grin accompanying the jib jab jive with his eyes on the Brit, or was that an East Euro accent he'd detected? Better lay low. Good thing Anthony always let him come in the back room. Said it was better for upfront business that way.
 
There's that breeze again. He'd noticed it up AT THE BIJOU too. Good, Ant had sent the college kid back with his drink. Time to think. Reaching in his uniform pocket for the hunk of hanky his Mum had always reminded him to keep handy, he unwrapped the slobbery iPhone he'd extracted from the Poe pup when a Milk Bone trade had been pleasingly possible. He had lot of pockets, lot of tricks. Mum said to keep mum and things will present themselves.
 
Things always did.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

                                                                    

Harry  followed the ambulance in his T-Bird. His knee wasn’t really hurting so much anymore but he figured maybe the doc would hook him up with a couple of Vicodin or Percocet anyway and besides, he wanted to talk to The Prof  privately. He wanted to ask him what he meant by what he’d said to Sergeant Stine.  Maybe he’d heard wrong or maybe it was just random muttering from a man recently bonked on the head. If it wasn’t though, it would be the second time he’d heard, "Let not the perfect be the enemy of the good!" in as many days. The other recitation had not come from a nice man.  

Harry’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the incoming number and knew his day was only going to get worse. “Yes? Are you kidding? OK I’m on it,” was his side of the conversation. The conversation he’d planned with The Prof was going to have to wait for another day.  This day was already one of those days.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

                                                                     

Eddie didn’t waste any time pouring over the instructions for his Super Spy Private Eye Fingerprinting Kit, he knew just what to do. He donned the Latex gloves with a surgical snap and using only his thumb and forefinger, picked the cup up by the lip opposite its handle.  He spread the folded paper included in the kit on a spot he’d cleared on Chester’s desk to catch the excess dust and began brushing on the powder. Leon left him to his business and made a call to a friend in the department he hoped might run whatever the boy lifted from the cup without making it official. “What time’s your break? OK, cheeseburger no ketchup, curly fries and a rootbeer. You got it Partner.” Leon hung up and asked the boy detective how he’d done. The boy detective had done well but he winced a bit when he realized how freely Detective Leon tossed the term Partner around. 
 

Leon picked up the mylar sheet Eddie had taped the transfers to and held it up to catch the light. Eddie pulled nearly perfect thumb, forefinger, ring and pinky prints. Crisp whorls, arches and loops with less smudging than officers currently employed to do the job routinely submitted. Eddie's first batch of prints from his Super Spy Private Eye Fingerprinting Kit were officially classifiable. Leon was officially impressed. “Nice work Partner. I have a friend at the cop shop that will run these for us on the sly for a gut bomb. His break isn’t for two hours though, you old enough to drink?”
 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

                                                                  

“Careful with that pea-shooter Ma’am, I’m just following orders. I was supposed to keep you in the dark for a spell and that’s all. I never meant you no harm, I was just coming to see if you needed some juice, I swear.” 

Jeanette wasn’t buying it and Sappy’s sniveling only repulsed her. The iPhone had stopped ringing. She drew Virginia back keeping the gun aimed between his eyes. She held the cell out, “Call them back. Tell them you were in the bathroom. Tell them everything is OK and make it convincing.” 

The man began to blubber and Jeanette realized he feared making the call more than he feared being shot. Who the hell are these guys?,  she wondered. She had an idea of course. But, would he really go to these lengths?  She felt suddenly hot -- and worse -- wet! She jumped up standing over the pathetic whimpering excuse for a man, who had just quite literally pissed himself. 

Enough is enough, she thought

and squeezed the trigger.

* C * L * I * F * F * H * A * N * G * E * R * !

* AT THE BIJOU * 

Please return to next Saturday's Matinee

for the next gut-gripping epic'sode!

" The Prints and The Popper "