THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 11 ~ ~ "THE SHADOW KNOWS" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

  The *INTRIGUE*

w h i s p e r  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 10 ~ The Pissing Match

 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 11 ~ ~

" THE SHADOW KNOWS"

~ By Absolutely*Kate 

and 
Harry B. Sanderford

Now reputations may flare up and reputations may die down and reputations even get run away from time to time, but instincts ~ well those reflex mechanisms will never die young. The Cheezum family fortune was not based as all present and accounted history states upon the coal, iron and steel industries foundrying along our great country. No, many hits happened along the way to easy Cheezum Street. Many hits indeed. It's true ~ Boss Gabardine was familiar with the family fabric of Boss Tweed. The lines between them ran straight as  zigzag seams it seems. Tough texture, both familes. The rough stuff of nightmares. Not dreams. 

Let's listen in at The Lucky, the Lucky Shot, where contemplative action is chugging possibilities and suspicions this stirred-up night in usually halcyon Hazelton. Penelope Payne, crack investigative reporter has noted being noted by the InterNoir hotshot she notably recalled as notorious in circumspect circles. Her theories now past conjectures, need a recounting to a trusted mind. For almost an hour Carrie Clevenger (accompanied by three robust cups of the Lucky's truest brew) has been drinking Penelope's thinking in ~ past tales of rum-runners and backdoor secret-knock-knowers supplying what Lucky Luciano needed when the need be rum, gin or guns. And instincts ~ there was a huge spiel spilled about how history repeats itself with instincts.

"They called her Fast Frannie back then, little Jeanette. They did, Carrie. She was a tomboy and a fun girl. She could bat her eyelashes as well as she could out towards the centerfield fence. She was an avid and astute learner. I've been through all her school records, city affadavits where community service was her very generous upfront thing, and for a month as hot as July down South -- "

"Was it July?" With a glint to her eye, Carrie couldn't help interrupting her pal Payne when that super-serious dame was tapping her folder of sources and showing off her reporter's notebook of notes, quotes and the multitudious observances she wrote. She wrote to get to the bottom of what was up. Investigative reporters of a normal sort admired her style, her wile. For Penelope Payne was NO normal sort. Carrie was one of the few she let in, an aimiable cohort, a partner in oncoming crime that the bylines never saw coming.

Sigh, "Yes Carrie ~ it was July. You pleased with your reading between the lines when they're presented right on top of themselves to you? Now, may I continue?"

Smirk, "Carry on."

Consulting her notes to test the lead-in for the Cheezum glory story to run on the missing Jeanette of BIJOU fame, the definitive journalism dame, Penny Payne painted brush stroke hues to her news. Notorious word scenes had a certain shimmer to bring new light around the bend to reader' senses and sensibilites, "Yes, Jeanette was the quintessential quick study. From handlebar stunts on Schwinns to what her brother Davie's Daisy BB gun could hole up on fence posts or neighborhood bullies' backsides. When needed, she'd ace play the girl-card in delicate Southern style, 'Ah do declarah Ah'm sooo vaahry saahrry! Why ah didn't know what this little wiggly thing would do if Ah squeezed it just right -- ' " 

Even with Carrie's rapt attention sturdily propped on her elbows at their table, her jaw still dropped plenty, "You're talking about the bro's BB gun right?!?"

Penny practically shook the #2 Eberhard from behind her ear with the chuckle that led to the guffaw that pushed aside her careful notes that answered her trusted friend's wide open eyes. Following a drunken day's escapades, Carrie was certainly wakening sharply to the story of the night. Penny swig-sipped her scotch and pushed the pottery mug Anthony had thrice ceremoniously plopped on their table just a little closer to the baffled dame. "Of course stooge. Where was your mind at?"

On cue, the Phantom jangled another nickel in, in the Lucky's nickelodeon. It actually cost a quarter to play the juke box, but spirited as he was, an adept-ability at getting his nickel's worth out of slinging slugs was a constant source of pride.The Lads from Liverpool serenaded the ambiance of the late lingering crowd. "Happiness is a warm gun -- "

Coffee snorted right across Penelope's copious notepad and colour-coded files. Carrie was laughing too hard to even apologize and the fellows at the bar turned stare to glare when the ruckus at Table Four regaled those Lucky folk still swaying on the dance floor. Both girls picked up the lyrics and belted out, "Bang bang -- shoot shoot."

Lieutenant Phillips heard "shoot shoot" and left his shadows to dance themselves against the wall.

Sergeant Stine caught his supposed superior's murky movement just in time to cease and desist the affirmative nods of his heated conversation with InterNoir's top gun Paul Caracas. 

Proprietor Anthony V crossed his arms, leaned his caliber against his favourite sign of the times and nodded to the music that always played inside his own noggin. Just another night at The Lucky.

"So as I was SAYING ~ , " Penelope shook her head again, sopping smears from marked-up margins of her once upon a crime pristine notepad, reconsulted her precise storyline and swirled the circumstances out for a second opinion's piping in. "Fast Franny J knew her way around firearms and clean shots and dirty dealings -- "

The sudden shadow abrupted all further swirlcomstances. This conversation was tabled.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

The shadow had a voice. A shaky voice, but a voice.

"Um, Carrie, Ms Payne, have either of you two seen Lieutenant Phillips? I, uh, received word that he'd be here at The Lucky Shot uh Tavern, and uh, er, I have a message to deliver, um, personally to him."

Savvy tells, as savvy always does. Especially intensified femme-savvy with antennae on alert. For even the waning inebriation saw through the flutter of the stutter of the always poised and proper piano teacher about town, young and lithe Mrs Laurita Poe. Classic ivory keys indeed. This gal could pound some rag time too. Penelope and Carrie shared that kind of knowing glance. Their lyrics though came out discordant:

"How the hell would I know Laurita?", Carrie lighthearted out with an eyebrow arch for good staging support.

Penelope tipped her tousel towards the Lucky's darkened hallway to the back room. "You'll find the man you're looking for at the corner table with the best view of the bar." After a short pause of a quick think, she tossed in, softly, "Good luck Mrs Poe, good luck."

“Thank you Ms Payne, I read you in The Holler. I guess you’ll have quite a column to write about all this sadness AT THE BIJOU," Laurita replied eyeing the drinks on the table. 

“Pick up tomorrow’s Holler, I’ll have something ready for deadline, and call me Penny. It’s Laurita, right?” 

“Yes Laurita, Laurita Poe. I’m very pleased to meet you. I better deliver that message now but I’ll look for your column tomorrow.” Penelope circled the rim of her glass with her index finger and Laurita thought she had never been inside a bar when she needed a drink more.

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Lieutenant Phillips took selective notice of the happy hours that swirled around him. The sharp crack of pool balls colliding, the tinkling of ice against glass, or the carefree laughter of labor unburdened were of little concern. He drank and quietly reviewed his list. Those that were on it were suspects, those that were not were civilians and therefore did not exist. A civilian approaching him however was grounds for making his list. “Hello Ms Poe, how are you this evening?”

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Leon caught Anthony’s eye and held his forefinger two inches from his thumb. “Give my partner here a light beer too,” he added jerking the same thumb over his shoulder at Eddie. “How’s tricks?” he offered with a nod to his old partner Dan Stine. 

“Everything’s copacetic Big Mon,” Stine shot back quoting a favorite author the two shared. 

“Good to hear it, you and the Constable got anything on the BIJOU case so far?”

“Well podnah, that’s classified information now that you’ve gone freelance. Did I hear you say this youngster is your partner?”

“That’s right, Eddie I want you to meet Sergeant Daniel Stine.” 

Eddie wiped beer sweat off his palm onto his pants leg and shot out his hand for a shake. “Nice to meet you officer,” Eddie said with complete sincerity.   

Daniel shook the boy's hand and told him, “You listen to this man son. He’s as good as they come.” Turning his attention back to Leon he said, “I mean that partner, you want back in all you have to do is say the word.”

“Thanks Dan, but the Bobbsey twins from homicide are out of business I’m afraid,” Leon replied quasi-quoting the same favored author and clapping a big hand on his old friend’s shoulder. 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Laurita Poe leaned in, slowly. Laurita Poe whispered, gently. Take heed. Laurita Poe's mission of a message was delivered up close and personal to Lieutenant Phillips. 

Indeed.

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

* AT THE BIJOU * 

Please return to next Sunday's Matinee

for the next gut-gripping epic'sode!

" The Prints and The Popper "