Please be a cat, please be a cat . . .
Another* first-person story, so here we go . . .
I was filling out an expense report at the Continental Detective agency. Between “Tuesday . . . Whiskey” and “Wednesday . . . Whiskey”, a man entered the office. He was tall, raw-boned, hard-faced . . . his skin showed the color of new brown shoes . . . he had bony hands . . . his face was ugly and grim . . . he had the expression of man who is remembering something disagreeable. But he had a lovely smile . . . no wait, he had clenched yellow teeth.
The brute had bigger problems — a knife wound in his chest. He dropped to the office floor like a sack of ugly. Hoping to catch his killer in the hall, I was able to bolt through the office, and hurdle the banister like Jesse Owens; although I was able to do it through the front entrance. All I found was Agnes from the steno pool who said the man had come in — understandably — alone.
Upon closer examination, he had been stabbed in the left breast [1] and tried to stop the bleeding with a strip of red cloth torn from a sarong. He had $900 on him which would have bought a couple of Model T’s and a Model A. He also had a key from the Hotel Montgomery; maybe he had parked the T & A there. The house dick told me the key was for a room rented by a man named HR Rounds. Detective O’Gar joined us, but we didn’t find anything but a bag of new clothes. At 11:00, O’Gar and I separated in the direction of our respective beds. We didn’t stay apart long . . . . . . . there’s got to be a better way to say that.
O’Gar phoned me at 12:55 am, and summoned me to 1856 Broadway. There had been an invasion at the 3-story house of Austin Richter. The four intruders had come from the land of sarongs, so I was notified. This is an exciting new investigative technique called “profiling” that I’m confident no one will ever have a problem with.
The homeowner’s wife, which is what we called the homeowner in those days, urged her husband to tell his story. Their friend Sam Molloy came by yesterday and said he was stabbed by a Siamese. He was on the way to the hospital, but first wanted to drop off a package for safe-keeping, then maybe shoot a game of pool. That night, four Siamese men broke in. In the scuffle, Mr. Richter was shot in the leg, and the men took the package.
After we searched the house, I was able to shoot a hole in Richter’s story to match the one in his leg. I must proudly say it all hinged on the fact that Richter could not have seen the Siamese men after dark; not even if they were smiling. [I must emphasize that is directly from the text; OK, not the smiling part] And “Mrs. Richter” was actually the dead man’s wife. O’Gar said that wasn’t enough to arrest him, but whaddya expect from an Irishman?
After some argument, the woman spilled her guts, although not as literally as Rounds aka Molloy. Richter was actually Holley, and Rounds / Molloy was actually Lange. Her tale spanned the world from China to Burma, although that isn’t really far when you think about it. And of course there were natives and jewels. The story just gets more complex after they arrive in the US.
This was enough for O’Gar, or maybe he had just sobered up a little. He had them arrested, and they got 20 years each.
Although this collection certainly has a better pedigree than The Pulp Fiction Megapack, I’m not sure I’m enjoying it as much. 1,117 pages to go.
Post-Post:
- First published in The Black Mask in March 1926.
- [1] The oddly specific popular location for many penetrations in Spicy Adventure Stories. Well, second most popular. Hey-ooooo.
In the alley at 300 Lincoln Place, a fight is taking place. All we see are 
After Cox leaves, Reynolds asks Avery if he purposely scheduled that seminar so Reynolds would have an alibi. Reynolds had earlier told Avery about Munson’s blackmail scheme. Avery counters that he could not possibly have strangled Munson because “Munson was a giant.”
Avery cautions that the serum must remain secret. Reynolds agrees that “It could upset a lot of things. Make a champion out of a mid-class pug, put a claiming horse [?] in the winners circle at the Kentucky Derby.” So far, I’m only seeing how it would be dangerous to bookies.
Cowboy Jake Miller is having a crisis of conscience — he can’t remember the faces of any of the eight men he has killed. His brother Ben rightly reminds him that even if he could remember their faces, they’d still be dead. Nearby, a preacher is having a bigger crisis as an alien materializes and possesses his body.
Frank & JD go to the saddle boutique. The possessed Preacher strolls by and gives them a demonstration. Light shoots out of his eyes and he makes a horse disappear. He offers to give them the same power. Frank tests it out by making a wagon wheel disappear. With this amazing new talent, the best the can think to do is kill the storekeeper and steal a couple of saddles and horses.
Jake & Ben see Frank & JD at the cemetery. Frank says, “Let’s get going.” Ben stops them after a few steps and says, “Hold up, this is it.” They all start digging and unearth a steel box. Frank uses his superpowers to enable him and JD to steal the loot. OK, so Frank & JD didn’t get mad that the money had been moved; or that they dug a huge back-breaking hole for nothing. Maybe they were playing it cool until Jake & Ben took them to the real burial space. That kind of calm strategic long-game doesn’t seem like a good fit for Frank, though.
Jake & Ben point their pistols at Frank, but he just makes them disappear. When Ben rushes him, he strangles him, with sparks flying from his hands. After Frank & JD take off with the loot, the Preacher happens by. He gives Jake & Ben the same power.
The Preacher explains he is from another planet. This was all a test from yet another condescending alien species. Jake gets on his horse and inexplicably rides off leaving Miriam, the only other survivor, behind. Well, she did kill his brother which could make Thanksgiving awkward, but he really had it coming. But again, the motivation escapes me. I like that she is left stunned, staring at the sky, but why is she alone?
The next morning, still wearing the same double-breasted suit — that’s reason enough to break up with a dude right there — Shephard goes in search of Ellie. He goes to her hair salon and starts flipping up hair dryers in search of her. He is man-handled, tossed out and given such a slap by the fabulous owner [1] of the salon. That’s not a story I’d tell down at the VFW Hall. The dog witnesses the whole scene.
Carl comes home from New York to find his home has been wrecked. I still can’t figure out what the point of this is. Carl is understandably peeved, but Shephard tells him not to be angry. Just to be safe, the dog kills him.
I was highly critical of Michael O’Keefe’s (Shepard) performance for most of the episode. He was never much of an actor, but here he just seemed all over the board. The revelation that he was nuts helped explain away some of that; many of his mannerisms are meant to imitate a dog. The basics of the story were great. I just wish I understood the sex doll, the sofa fort, the destruction of Carl’s house, and the symbolism of wearing the same suit day after day. I guess the destruction is what you would expect from a dog. Maybe the suit was like the dog’s fur — he can’t change it.
It gets a little more interesting as we are treated to a POV shot which, like