THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 12 ~ "MIDNIGHT COWBOY" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

  The *TERROR*

t e a s e 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 11 ~ The Shadow Knows

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 12 ~ ~

"MIDNIGHT COWBOY"

 ~ or ~

"DELVE TWELVE"

~ or ~

"Keep the Change

from the Dozen, Cousin"

~ Har and I had a plethora of Epic'sode titles;

Care to help us out?  ~

~ By Absolutely*Kate 

and 
Harry B. Sanderford

"There is an elegant art to detection my new friend." Caracas smiled complacently at the amber in a glass which had the sense to have a bartender who maintained it at more than half-full. 

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Observation. Reflection." His tumbler swirled. His trained demeanor wouldn't dare. "On occasion, Refraction -- seeing how what once enlightened can be lit in entirely different perspicacious perceptions."

"So that's what you've been doing all this time -- Detecting, refracting? Here I thought you were just drinkin' and swallowing up the local atmosphere. Top you off?"

Go at it, Caracas nodded, simultaneously intent on all The Lucky was pouring out this evening --  the detective discourse with the eager-eyed lad to his right, the press pondering front and center, the Lieutenant and the shadowy lady near the front of where the back room took over, and the twitch of the suave barkeep each time he opened a conversational pundit upon . . . detecting. Palpable at best, there were tensions under talents. He'd bet his bottom euro and the villa in the south of France, if only he still had it. That's why this case mattered. Coffer-filling manner to means. On both sides of the coin. This Anthony of the Lucky Shot local saloon had tasted out-of-luck and spit it out once or thrice. He could tell. Types always told. This one? Too quiet for his own bold. What was he in on? And could he be trusted as a fast foil?

Though a dozen conjectures appeared humid and hazy in Hazelton from a day's worth of liquidation duty, an InterNoir gent must do what an InterNoir gent must do. Someone had to. He'd been called in on the crime when it was still in the making. Best way to see a spin before it had a dangle to tangle, a pot to spit in, a skein to unravel --

"You're Paul Caracas, orbiting InterNoir star, correct? I have questions. My readers appreciate succint answers."

Though he'd seen her purposeful stride, and the solemnity in her eye of a woman who got what she came looking for, Caracas liked what he was looking for all the more from private eye to public view.

"Ahhh, Penelope Payne I presume. Reporter of rabid rep. The minute you walked in the joint I could tell you were a dame of distinction -- "

"Yeah, yeah - a real big spender of quality time. Listen artful dodger. You have a who to who-done-it?

"Could be."

"Already?"

"Could be."

"You sharing?"

"Could."

"How?"

"You know."

"You mean?"

"I should."

"But you won't?"

"Must finish the job I've been started on Miss. But then -- "

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all - true bliss?"

Caracas smiled way back in his eyes where the low growl on out-of-town nights preferred to prowl. Payne's not a pushover. This held sport. He rather favoured sport.

"Let us count the ways . . . "

Her eyes flickered but her retendree never blinked.

"Don't swerve. Who pulled the plug on Sparky? Where's the beloved BIJOU film reviewer Jeanette? Why was Chester seen in town when Sparky Denton was known to be his replacement because he was up on misdemeanors out of town? You know how to make the room move when you meet a lady worth the tango?"

Paul Caracas didn't flinch. Not even with that billiards babe Carrie-something-or-other gesturing a frantic thumb in the air configuration and mouthing, well, never mind.

   "One - The prone projectionist was a clear cut case
      of poison popcorn made to preoccupy
      the premiere crime scene. 

   Two - Smoke and mirrors make better illusions
    come to play.

   Three - Some say it packs the house. 

   Four - A packed house leaves an open door. 

   Five - An out-of-town job
    needs and out-of-town perp. 

   Six - Misdemeanors are never what they seem.

   Seven - Never met a tango needing turned down. We've got five more numbers to even the odds on a dozen by midnight. You got a nickel Penny? Stoke the nickelodeon. Play Misty for me."

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Leon finished his drink and made a bottoms up gesture for Eddie to pick up the pace with his beer, “We have to stop and pick up a Happy Meal on our way, better get moving.” 

“You’re going to see Fat-Cop!” Stine accused. “What did you find?”

Alan Burger’s nickname started out Fat-Al, a play on the word fatal due to his propensity in the early days of his career to shoot rather than chase a suspect. His natural laziness coupled with a proclivity for the food that shared his name, numbered his days as a beat cop. Before he hung it up to ride a desk full time, a suspect who did survive to see the interrogation room asked of Al and his partner, “What is this, good-cop fat-cop?” It stuck.

“So, now you want to share information?” Leon grinned. 

Stine knew there was no point in reading Leon the rulebook, “Cheeseburger, curly fries and a rootbeer’s the goin’ rate. If he talked you into a shake you’re getting old my friend.”

Leon paid his bill and bought another round for Stine, “Looks like your InterNoir date’s getting chummy with the press Dan. Be careful.”

“Copy that Podnah.” 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Sappy’s cowering whimper ended with the short report of Jeanette’s derringer pistol. Click…Click. “Godammit!” Jeanette broke Virginia open to stare in disbelief at the two empty chambers staring back. Sappy uncoiled from his fetal position still reeking of urine and cowardice and never once thought of counting his blessings.  He swept a leg catching Jeanette off guard and sent her sprawling. He leapt upon her and seized her by the throat. 

Jeanette hammered with her fists and bicycled her legs but she hadn’t drawn a good breath. She was leaving and she knew it. She hated going at the hands of such a pussy. She did not close her eyes, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She couldn’t talk but if looks could kill, she meant to stare this son of a bitch straight into hell . . . and then, over Sappy’s shoulder she saw an angel. Oh crap, what’s next trumpets? she thought. Before she finished her thought the angel clobbered Sappy with an enormous nickel-plated pistol and sent the bastard tumbling. The angel went on to kick and stomp the living shit out of the once again cowering sap and with each gasp of sweet oxygen her angel came more fully into focus. “Harry!”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Mary Lou came with their order and placing the tray on the table read back the receipt, “Okay, that’s 8 mini cheeseburgers and an order of 9 chicken nuggets to split. Comes to 10 dollars and 11 cents.” 

Sugar was between paychecks and down to laundry quarters, most of which she had spent on combs from that damn irresistible vending machine in the men’s room. Zelda dug around in her pocketbook and came up with a five and eight ones. She smoothed the wrinkly pile keeping one dollar for her lotto ticket and slid the pile to Mary Lou saying, “Sorry Doll, all I have right now is 12 bucks, but you keep the change from the dozen cousin!”

Legs stretched out, sitting sideways in the Dairy Queen booth, Zelda spun the little bullet on the table between her and Sugar. 

“You know, technically that is evidence,” Sugar pointed out dipping a nugget. 

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

* AT THE BIJOU * 

Enjoyably return to next Sunday's Matinee

for the next gut-gripping epic'sode!

" The Prints and The Popper "

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 "

THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 7 ~ ~ "MEET VIRGINIA" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

~ PRESENTING OUR

   MYSTERY*MATINEE ~

 "THE PRINTS

AND THE POPPER"

  

FROM WHERE WE LEFT OFF

 IN LAST WEEK'S CLIFFHANGER

 *AT THE BIJOU*

CATCHING UP ON CLIFFHANGERS?

JUST CLICK EPIC*SODES BELOW:

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"... 

 THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER

 

~ ~ EPIC*SODE 7 ~ ~

"Meet Virginia"

~ By Absolutely*Kate 

and

Harry B. Sanderford

Jeanette’s scream was not one of fear but more a release of pent up rage only further exasperated by this ill-timed reappearance of her tormentor. A body could take only so much disappointment before snapping. There was no cry in her war-cry and no hesitation in her actions when she seized the wooden chair by the arm and hurled it at the figure silhouetted in the doorway. There was no weeping and there was to be no mercy when she charged and tackled her stunned and stumbling jailer. She scrambled on top of him grabbing an ear in each hand and began bashing his head on the cold concrete floor. Each time she pulled his head back up she hammered her knee home between his legs. She was a cornered beast fighting for her life, and once again she'd found her rhythm. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sip. Think. Pour, more. ~ gleaming photo ala frecklescorp

The crowd was thick as thieves at The Lucky Shot Bar & Grille this evening, where an ace reporter from The Hazeltown Holler chose contrarily to drink the scene in alone. Meanwhile, InterNoir's crack-a-case-a-hundred-ways hotshot, Paul Caracas, didn't wish to heap any suspicions on the affable barkeep with the right wrist action for all the ways the bourbon tumblered, but his passport folio had evidently been lifted higher than his hopes in scoring some extra scratch from this small town's crime screams. The night was a toddler though, and he'd let it play. Smiling smug that it's such a cliche about how a creep creeps back to the crime scene that he or she actually does, Caracas adjusted his wait more comfortably on his bar stool. Odds on he'd be lucky at The Lucky, score back his goods as well as more perspicacity to the veracity of how the Hazeltown yarns were knitting about. Some had straggled in from up AT THE BIJOU already, hitting Venutolo up for shots and daiquiries among shouts and inquiries. Everyone wanted to know who was in-the-know, why blood was shed, how a temp-projectionist reached the final frame, dead. This barkeep ran a tight pub with a light grin, took in small talk and large conjectures, pocketed tips any way they came, and doled out the gin.

While the weekly poker game staked the usual jokers and aces and the newcomers at the billiards table felt green action, Anthony nodded his nightly command to his energetic staff to "Keep the customers happy, will ya?"

"We always do boss."

"That's why you pay us so magnificently, Mr V."

"Yeah, yeah. Get goin' you two - I see rye runnin' dry at that corner table for two." 

Rumbling his good-natured chuckle at local smart-ass college kids Buzzy and Jen, Anthony turned to the chipper chap he'd surmised to be a Brit with an Eastern Euro background or the other way around, not quite clarified yet but he'd nail it before he had to muddle a Mint Julep if the Sport o'Kings wasn't jockeying to be his sideline business. "So what in heaven's name particularly brought you to Hazletown?"

Paul Caracas sipped the way he thought, thoughtfully. "My health. I came to Hazletown for the waters."

Adding a splash to his own twist, Ant played along. "The waters. What waters? We're in the desert."

"I was misinformed."

The chuckle rumbled a deeper decible. This guy was playing with a full deck in Venutolo's seen-it-all vignettes of how life's repartee was dealt. Hell, he could do Casablanca without twitching an eye. Wonder what else he wouldn't give up.

"Ant, Hazletown's no desert. True grit perhaps, but you were telling tales on our terrain. Introduce me to your friend here?"

"Sergeant Stine, meet Mr Caracas of InterNoir. You know what evil lies in the guise of InterNoir?"

"The shadows know Ant, the shadows know." Daniel Stine moved down one stool and held out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you face to face Paul."

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Every politician knows how the moods of the public can capriciously change. None more so than the public pulse throb scorekeeper, Boss Gabardine. Now a grudge-match is a grudge-match, but a political grudge entrenches lower than where the mud doth rake. Gabardine still seethed from how the carefully crafted Cheezum maneuvers in '04 had cost delegates, elections, reputations and unfinessed fates. Lifting the lids on sealed tight cover-ups for the sake of expose' ink was no Tupperware burp to keep down. Not since Redford and Hoffman had Woodward and Bernsteined was a politico darling so daringly in the know. So in the know that she'd brought down curtains for some and up-the-river BigHouse sentences to paraphrase others' dangling propostions. She had to have inside info, she just had to. 

When the media heat was on, time had to be bided, that was a given. However the hit after the heat was given too, not with a holler but a handshake. Closed doors. You know how it goes. It was a double-barrel shot the syndicate was targetting  -- to throw a scare in how she was poking around again and to scrape the surface of secrecy sources. Damn it, Jeanette had inside info, no Yankee Doodle doubts about it. Now if only that stunad would answer his I-phone, Boss G would know the latest lay of the land. He had a chain of command to steel up to as well. Loose links sink senator's ships.

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was the ringing brought Jeanette out of her trance, probably saving a man’s life. Still straddling the sap she could now see was sapped, she released him allowing him to slump back unconscious and fished the source of the ringing  from his shirt pocket.  Another damn I-phone. The German cockroach of electronics, she thought. They’re everywhere. She was fingering the talk button when she noticed her formerly subdued sap had not only roused but had the actual audacity to be eyeballing her inner thighs where her skirt had hiked over. Looking down where he had drawn a bead she thought, now how could I forget about you?  

She switched the relentless  ringer to her left hand and reached down with her right.“Enjoying the view? You  lookin’ at Virginia? Well here, how about a nice close look?” she ordered, retrieving  the silver derringer from her garter and poking the muzzle into Sappy’s mug. “Meet Virginia. You got about one second to start talkin’ Buster. Who’s on the other end of this phone?”

* 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 "