It was a dark and stormy night

It was a dark and stormy night . . . . .
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by Thomas Linton


A dirty rain fell on the city, as if it knew it couldn't wash the stains of corruption and evil off the denizens of the dark. I was in my office, looking down at the world in all its sharp lights and shadows, seeing the invitation, but not the welcome.
 
She put them on the desk.

"I want you to find the rest of my husband," she purred.
 
Kismet said:
She put them on the desk.

"I want you to find the rest of my husband," she purred.
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While she was casting pheromones of promises of pure out of this world sex.
 
"You mean whatever you left of him?"
"Exactly." She said. "There wasn't enough for a cat box, let alone a man. But I've been hearing....stories. I want you to find out if they're true." by munk


While she was casting pheromones of promises of pure out of this world sex.by Yvsa


Maybe the problem was that I'd been in this dirty business too long. Nothing was new; nothing was bright anymore. The whole world was tarnished by its contact with itself. The eyes on the desk, the pheromones in the air, the promise of extra-terrestrial sex---I'd seen it all before; that, and a lot more.

"Listen, Kitten, you shouldn't have kept him the cat box in the first place. In the second place, I don't think I'm the right joe for this kind of caper. And in the third place, is that a gun in your pocket, or the micro-chip prototype of the Dravonian husband emulsifier?

"Something stinks here, Kitten, and it isn't any kitty litter and pheromones. You don't want to mess with me. I shoot rabbits while I'm passing water."
 
Kismet said:
I had a 10 BDC. It was truly lovely.

I couldn't figure out how to use it.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas Linton started the novella.


Wait. Were the blue eyes on my desk even her husband's eyes? I only had her word for it...and who was she? Some tissue tender dame who sashayed into MY seedy office with a yarn to spill.

Now, noticing her purple eyes, I couldn't help but think that this case had sides of agreement, after all, so far, the eyes had it.

But there had to be more. All the subliminal odor references started to bother me. Charmin was scented, and the fragrance had a fishy smell to it.

"What stories about your husband have you heard?" My query was deliberately leading...too many years in a dirty business in a dirty world made me listen for nuances that could change the case.
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She looked at me with a gaze that would have melted permafrost and licked her lips. I knew I had better watch myself or my $200 a day plus expenses was going to evaporate while I handed her my Gold Card and told her to do her worst.

She spread herself out on the edge of my desk like a tossed salad on a dinner plate, with all the ingredients arranged just right.

"I heard my husband was mixed up in some risky business," she responded with a voice that was like 12 year old Scotch, mellow and sweet. "He managed to take my money and get himself involved with some Import/Export place in Reno. He won't tell me anything, but so far I'm out 20 G's."

She looked at me with an expression that was suddenly needy and eager and pleading all at once. "Do you think it's another woman?"

I looked down at her shapely crossed legs, but actually thought about the question. The whisper-stream brought back stories from my unconcious mind. Stories of men and at least one woman who had been involved in the purchase of some rare items from somewhere in Asia. Another woman? Not unless she was his sister, because this one made every other creature with matching X chromosomes look like Janet "The Baby Burning B@^ch of Waco" Reno.

The patterns were the same and yet had differences. Men would drain their bank accounts, spend hours online, hover over their computers at certain times of the day, smuggle in Priority Mail packages and hide the contents from their families. Something was up, and I was just the Private Dick to find out what it was!

I came back from my reverie and tore my eyes away from those lovely gams. "Go home Babycakes, and leave this to me," I said slowly. "I have a lead in Vegas that has a contact up North that can tell me what might be going on. I'll need a Grand to get started."

She shot me a glance that was questioning and trusting at the same time and reached down her blouse and pulled out a wad of bills big enough to choke a Nepalese Spotted Deer, and slowly counted out ten $100 dollar bills. I cursed myself for lowballing the pitch, as she stuffed what looked like another coupla grand back into her C cup.

She handed me the bills. "When will I hear from you?" she asked. "When I got news Peaches," I said. "Now take off 'cause I got work to do. Just a minute," I continued, as she turned to go. I grabbed her by her waist and tilted her pretty head back and gave her a kiss that felt like it was the first time. A minute later we came up for air and my head was spinning and she looked satisfied. I wondered how long it had been since she had really been kissed, and kissed well. I coudn't believe I was getting paid for this.

"That will hold you till we can get something more interesting going," I said. She gave me one last look and headed out the door. "What would my Mama say!" I said to myself, as I folded the extra dough in my left hand and shoved it down in my pocket. She wouldn't miss it anyway.

Off to work. Something was up in Reno, and I was bound to find out what it was or die trying for a dame like that...!
 
>>>>>>>

What I didn't know then could of got me killed, and almost did. Every man who crossed her path thought it was new, he was different somehow, it would work.

Looking back, I think I did just about everything she wanted me to.
After she left I started making calls, trying to get a line on the husband.
I'd heard a few things I hadn't mentioned to her. They sounded crazy, even to me, and I'd heard the Fat Lady sing at 3 AM drinking mouthwash out of a hollow log. No, if this was about what I was thinking, it wouldn't do any good to talk too soon.

I knew a man in Texas, made shoes for a living. He could fix you up right, and you'd never go back to a store bought pair. Kept everyone's sizes in a reciepe box so if you wanted another pair of boots he'd make them. Pedros Gonzales Aribe Smith, but his friends called him "Lefty". He was right handed so what the hell? But he knew things, kept a line out, and the business I had in mind had to do with his part of the panhandle.

We talked for awhile, about old times, lizards we'd known and pigs that had grown. After the chit chat we got down to it. It was bad. No, it was worse.
I asked him, there was something about the Brazos, what was it, what had happened? And the stories? I didn't even want to say the word; Zombies.

"The man you want, the one you need to talk to," he said, suddenly quiet and deadly serious, "is Know, the one they call the Red Man, Ed Know."
>>>>>>>


munk
 
The nightmares of a thousand binges washed over me!!!

"No, no, not Know!!! I know Know!!!

Or at least I knew Know, unless this was a new Know.

The Red Man had lived with me in the bizarre reaches of my mind ever since...
 
Ed Know was the 5th Beatle, he was on the grassy knoll in Dallas, he was Bob Novak's source on the Plame leak and he knows conclusively what became of Amelia Earhardt.:eek:
 
The cult had gotten to Know before I did. He was in bad shape, with small, blunt knives sticking out of him all over, like porcupine quills. At the hospital, I couldn't get much out of him. But I was getting closer. Know's mumbled words rang in my head. But what did they mean? Who, exactly, was "achakma hertz?"


Ad Astra
 
A few pages back, was that "promises of pure out of this world" sex or seax ?
(wouldn't want a little typo cause you to wind up like poor Mr. Hertz).
As William Bendix used to say, "What a revolting development this is !" :eek:
 
munk said:
There are many khuks that perform the same at certain specs, SASSAS; adding a longer BDC which duplicates the ground covered by 18" WWll's, AK's, Ganga Rams, etc, is OK; it is a good thing.

Just as extending the Pen into territority occupied by the Ganga Ram is a good thing.

munk
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The coming dark of the night was shattered as the moon projected its influence over the shadows of the creeping crepuscle. EEEEE A monster! NO... just twilight! Worry often gives a small thing, great significance and this can cast a dark shadow over any person's life.

Main Entry: cre·pus·cule
Variant(s): or cre·pus·cle /-'p&-s&l/
Function: noun Etymology: Latin crepusculum, from creper dusky
: TWILIGHT

Thanks,

iBear
 
Kismet said:
The nightmares of a thousand binges washed over me!!!

"No, no, not Know!!! I know Know!!!

Or at least I knew Know, unless this was a new Know.

The Red Man had lived with me in the bizarre reaches of my mind ever since...
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Are you binging again?

I binged once... only once!

iBear
 
munk said:
Ed Know.....touched Amelia Earhardt.

munk
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On a more serious note, my uncle Elgen M. Long, an aeronautical expert, wrote Amelia Earhart: The Mystery Solved.

Interesting food for your fodder... and mudder too, if you are so inclined. My uncle, Elgen Long, won the Gold Air Medal for his own solo around-the-world flight in 1971.

Now, with the recent discovery of long-lost radio messages from Earhart's final flight, we can say with confidence that she ran out of gas just short of her destination of Howland Island in the Pacific Ocean. From the beginning of her flight, a series of tragic circumstances all but doomed her and her navigator, Fred Noonan.

Authors Elgen M. and Marie K. Long spent more than twenty-five years researching the mystery surrounding Earhart's final flight before finally determining what happened. They traveled over one hundred thousand miles to interview more than one hundred people who knew some part of the Earhart story.

They draw on authoritative sources to take us inside the cockpit of the Electra plane that Earhart flew and recreate the final flight itself. Because Elgen Long began his own flying career not long after Earhart's disappearance, he can describe the equipment and conditions of the time with a vivid first-hand accuracy.

As a result, this book brings to life the primitive conditions under which Earhart flew, in an era before radar, with unreliable communications, grass landing strips, and poorly mapped islands.

iBear
 
ibear said:
On a more serious note, my uncle Elgen M. Long, an aeronautical expert, wrote Amelia Earhart: The Mystery Solved.

Interesting food for your fodder... and mudder too, if you are so inclined. My uncle, Elgen Long, won the Gold Air Medal for his own solo around-the-world flight in 1971.

Now, with the recent discovery of long-lost radio messages from Earhart's final flight, we can say with confidence that she ran out of gas just short of her destination of Howland Island in the Pacific Ocean. From the beginning of her flight, a series of tragic circumstances all but doomed her and her navigator, Fred Noonan.

Authors Elgen M. and Marie K. Long spent more than twenty-five years researching the mystery surrounding Earhart's final flight before finally determining what happened. They traveled over one hundred thousand miles to interview more than one hundred people who knew some part of the Earhart story.

They draw on authoritative sources to take us inside the cockpit of the Electra plane that Earhart flew and recreate the final flight itself. Because Elgen Long began his own flying career not long after Earhart's disappearance, he can describe the equipment and conditions of the time with a vivid first-hand accuracy.

As a result, this book brings to life the primitive conditions under which Earhart flew, in an era before radar, with unreliable communications, grass landing strips, and poorly mapped islands.

iBear
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Interesting! Thanks for posting about this. This is one I need to hunt down.

Norm
 
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