And sat in a yellow chair
And then I saw a mouse
Flying thru the air
I pulled out my silvery gun
And shot the flying beast
Then I thought that I had won
And that I’d have a feast
But I was very wrong
As I was soon to see...
The hairy beast got up
And bit me in the knee!
I ran out to my car
And drove it back to town
Driving so long & far
O’er the sun-baked ground
A second later I woke up.
I was in a padded cell.
I couldn’t understand it...
I must’ve gone to Hell!
20
The Destitute Detective
Life as a detective is never easy. You deal with dangerous, dishonest characters, often in the seediest parts of town, and have to work all kinds of crazy hours. The mysteries you’re asked to solve are often complex and, well, mysterious. Even for an old pro like me, the job is dirty & difficult. The one good thing about it is that it pays well, at least if you get the right cases. My name is Ira Banner, and I’m probably the greatest private eye you’ve never heard of.
Why haven’t you heard of me? Why is my name not synonymous with the greatest crime busters of the ages? There’s one simple reason I never made it into the pantheon of famous sleuths: I was poor.
You see, the most successful detectives work on expense accounts, and if they’re really lucky, those accounts are more or less openended. In other words, if you’re working a case and a clue pops up that leads you to a witness in Paris who can bust the whole investigation wide open. .
well, for some guys that’d be a great break. But for me, it’d be nothing but trouble.
First, I’d have to fill out paperwork requesting funds to buy a plane ticket to France. Then, I’d have to argue with my client about why the 21
ticket was really necessary. And finally, I’d have to cry in my beer over the fact that my stupid client wouldn’t approve my request, while yet another mystery that I was on the verge of solving would slip through my fingers.
Fame and fortune thus eluded me on many occasions, and the resultant frustration caused me to develop a rather large drinking & gambling problem. Those problems, combined with my penchant for womanizing, led me to the brink of total financial ruin.
My low point came about three years ago, when my landlord threatened to evict me from my cheap, roach-infested apartment. I knew I needed to act fast if I was going to keep a roof over my head, which is a very important part of winning over the ladies.
***
My mind was racing as I left my apartment that day. I hopped into my broken down, fifteen year old Volkswagen convertible and started cruis-ing around town, hoping that the fresh spring air would help clear my mind.I tried to remember the name of a woman who had called me a week earlier, trying to get me to take her case. I took her instead, and turned the case down. I just hoped she wasn’t the kind of dame who’d hold a grudge.
Fortunately, even though I couldn’t recall the woman’s name, I was able to find my way back to her house. It was an awfully big house — a mansion, really, and so I figured she must have some dough. Once I got there, one of her servants directed me to the pool behind the house, where he said I would find her.
As I approached the pool, she happened to glance my way and swam over to meet me.
“So, Mr. Banner, you’ve returned. Looking for a little action, I pre-sume.”
22
She seemed a little hostile. Ordinarily, that kind of attitude is my cue to flip someone the bird and skedaddle, but I was desperate, and so I pressed on & tried to look cool.
“Well, that’d be nice,” I replied. “Some other time, perhaps. For now, I thought I’d inquire into the matter you asked me about last week — the case of your husband’s death.”
“Ah, my husband,” she said as she climbed out of the water. She was wearing a bikini so skimpy it was nearly invisible, and she had the kind of body that’d make a Playboy playmate envious. I struggled to maintain my composure. “What about him?”
“Well, he’s still dead, I take it,” I stammered.
“Unless he’s found some way to come back,” she replied.
“Of course, how silly of me. What I meant to say was. . the case regard-ing his death is still open, I hope?”
She informed me that, although the matter was still unsolved, she had hired another investigator to look into it.
“Would you consider hiring a second P.I.?” I asked. “I’ve got references.
Anybody will tell you that I’m the best.”
“Oh, I’m quite certain you are the best, Mr. Banner. That’s why I contacted you first. But the other man I hired is extremely talented as well. And besides, I don’t much care for the way you treated me last week. That
‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ attitude of yours is really most repulsive.” So now she was attacking my lifestyle! I bristled. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said. “Can I have the job?”
She could sense that I was serious about taking the case and softened a bit. “Yes, of course,” she said. “And if you can capture whoever it was who murdered my husband, I’ll give you double your standard rate.” 23
That was music to my ears. “Okay, great! I’ll need a couple hundred up front, and a number where I can reach you so you can wire me the additional money I’ll need to cover my expenses.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Banner. Because of the way you behaved last week, I’ll not pay you a dime until you’ve solved the case!” My jaw dropped. “Until I’ve solved the case?!? But — my expenses!
How do you expect me to work without an expense account?”
“That’s your problem, not mine,” she said, as she climbed the steps lead-ing up to the back door of her house. She opened the door and stepped inside. “In the event that you do solve the case, you know where I can be reached. Good luck!” And with that, she closed the door.
That’s how my luck was at that time. I finally had a case, but I still had no money. And if I was gonna pay the rent on time, I had to solve the mystery of what’s-her-name’s husband’s murder within sixteen hours. It wasn’t gonna be easy, but hey — I’m Ira Banner!
***
I drove around town for a while, not knowing where to start. I knew there was a dead guy out there, and I was looking to find out who killed him, but being that I couldn’t remember either his or his wife’s names, I was sort of in a bind. Then it hit me — my assistant of the last ten years— I could ask him for help!
“Hey, what’s happenin’, Hoss?” my assistant, Mike Hancock, greeted me as I strode into his living room. Mike was a filthy, drunken loser who had been unemployed for most of the previous decade. He managed to find gainful employment just often enough so that he could collect ben-efits payments from the state for at least six months out of every year.
It was irritating, to say the least, because most of that time, when he was working, he was working for me, and yet somehow he always seemed to be able to game the system so well that the state paid him better than I ever did, and indeed he made a better living than me, even though he was my assistant.
24
“I need your help, Mike,” I told him. “I’m looking to find a kil er, but I don’t know who the victim is. Have you been fol owing the news lately?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Do you know of any rich socialites in this area who’ve been off’d lately?”
“Yeah, sure. That guy Henry Shaw.”
That did it. Once Mike mentioned the name Henry Shaw, it all came flooding back to me. Shaw’s wife was named Laura, and. . well, that was it, actually. I couldn’t remember any other relevant details of the case. It reminded me of Laura, though. Wow, was she hot.
Anyway, I explained to Mike that I had been hired to look into the matter of Mr. Shaw’s death, and asked if he knew anything that could be of use to me.
“Well,” he responded, “I went to a fundraiser at their mansion last summer. You wanna see the pixtures?”
“Yeah, let me see the pixtures.”
The thing about Mike was, even though he was a lazy, stinking drunk, he was a great assistant. He could always be counted on to get me a cup of hot coffee first thing in the morning, and he always knew not to interrupt me when I was alone with a lady. On the other hand, he was also as dumb as a post. And he was annoying as hell. His grammar was atrocious, too, and I knew that if he said pixtures just one more time to me, I’d have to belt him.
“Here ya go, dog breath,” he said as he handed me a photo album.
“Which one’s Henry Shaw?” I asked as I leafed through the book.
“That’s him there. . and there. . and there.” 25
“Hmmm, that was some fundraiser,” I remarked. Suddenly I spotted myself among the revelers. “Hey, that’s me!” I exclaimed. “I don’t remember this!”
“You must’ve gotten pretty loaded,” Mike chortled.
“Yeah, I guess so. Well, now I know what Shaw looks like, but who would’ve had the motive to kill him?”
“I’m pretty sure he had ties to the mafia — some crime family based in Illinois. I could ax this chick I know. She used to deal with them quite often.”
I could feel my blood pressure rising. How can it be that so many people mangle the English language this way? You’re not supposed to pronounce the “s” in Illinois! The word “ask” is not pronounced “ax”!
And the “t” in “often” is silent! How many times had I heard English teachers correct students on basic points like these when I was in school? And yet people still get stuff like this wrong with such alarm-ing regularity it drives me absolutely insane! I mean, if knuckleheads like him can get high school diplomas, why don’t I have a doctorate?
Seriously, somebody should offer me an honorary degree already!
But I digress. “Okay,” I told Mike “you look into that. I’m going to step out and grab a bite to eat. I’ll check in with you later and see what you found out.”
“All right. See ya, dude.” I started out the door when Mike added
“Hey, you wanna take these pixtures with ya?”
“Yeah, I would. Thanks, Mike,” I said, before punching him hard in the solar plexus and snatching the photo album out of his hands.
“I’ll call you later.”
“Okay,” Mike huffed, as he stood in his doorway doubled over in pain.
26
***
As usual, Mike’s information turned out to be totally worthless. “Why is it that I think that guy’s such a great assistant?” I asked myself. Is it really all about the coffee?
Fortunately, when I was out getting my lunch, I overheard someone say that a woman named Maria Bell was staying in a hotel near town. I recognized that name instantly, recalling that she was linked with an infamous crime family from Illinois. Why was she here in New Jersey, I wondered, and could she spare a five-spot so I could buy some gas?
My car wheezed into the parking lot at the Grand Wyatt Hotel, and I made my way up to Maria’s room. I wasn’t about to take any crap from this dame, and if she didn’t spill her guts right away, I knew I might have to get tough with her.
I kicked the door open and quickly checked around to see who was there. She was alone, wrapped in a towel and sitting on the bed watching TV and eating potato chips.
“I’m only going to ask you this one time,” I began my interrogation.
“Who killed Henry Shaw?”
She just stared at me, dumbfounded. Finally, after a long moment had passed, she spoke: “Wha--?”
What could I say? I was putty in her hands! Her long black hair, full red lips and heaving bosoms turned my mind to mush, and not for the first time. And so I changed my strategy for dealing with her.
“Please, please, please!” I begged. “I’ve got to solve this case to pay my rent! I’ll be out on the street! You don’t want that, do you?”
“Why should I care what happens to you?”
“Oh, nice attitude. No wonder you’re a criminal.” I dropped to my knees. “Please tell me! Pleeeease!! Pleeeeeeeeease!!!” 27
After a few hours of whining & groveling, she finally cracked. “All right, I’ll tell you! It was Christoph Schmookovsky who killed Henry Shaw!”
“Schmookovsky, eh? I’m not surprised. Where’s he hiding out now?”
“He’s in Atlantic City, meeting with some casino owners. That’s why he killed Shaw.”
Suddenly, it all made sense to me. Schmookovsky was a short, dumb looking, buck-toothed Russian thug — a first-rate creep responsible for most of the murder & mayhem in the area. I had known all about him for years, but could never pin anything on him because I lacked the funds to conduct a proper investigation.
“Schmookovsky needed to kill Shaw in order to clear the way for nego-tiations to bring a new casino to Chicago. Shaw probably wanted that deal for himself, and would never have cut Schmookovsky in on the action!” I explained to Maria, even though she already knew the whole story.
“Your deductive powers are amazing!” she gasped.
“Gee, thanks. So are yours!” I gushed.
“Now all you have to do is go down to Atlantic City and apprehend Schmookovsky. You’ll have solved the crime, and with him in jail I’ll no longer be in danger!”
“Yeah, I’d love to do that,” I said, “but I don’t have enough gas in my car to get out of the parking lot! Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have any cash, would you?”
Maria shook her head.
“Any bank cards? Credit cards? Money orders? Food stamps?” She had nothing, and so I was forced to make some phone calls and see if I could get Schmookovsky to come to me. I contacted Schmooko-28
vsky’s men and informed them that Maria was now working with me, and arranged a meeting at a favorite hangout of mine — a bar called Duke’s. A buddy of mine owned the place, and he would usually let me eat there for free. I convinced him to close up early, ‘cause this confron-tation would likely be bloody.
“What are you gonna do when he gets here?” Maria asked me.
“Are you gonna shoot him?”
“Well, under normal circumstances, that’s exactly what I’d do. But I had to pawn my gun last week so I’d have money to buy beer, and now all I have are these.” I pulled a handful of bullets out of my pocket and showed them to her. “I suppose I could throw these at him, but I think I’ll try something different instead.”
Just then, Schmookovsky entered the room. “Banner! We meet again!” he said. “And for the last time!” He produced a .44 Magnum and pointed it at me.
“Wait!” I cried. “Before you shoot, have a drink on me.” I walked over behind the bar and started mixing a couple of drinks.
“You’re buying drinks? I thought times were tough for you, Banner!” Schmookovsky gloated.
“Don’t believe everything you hear.” I replied, handing him a drink.
“This is a very special drink. I think you’re gonna like it.”
“What’s in it?”
“Oh, just a little beer, vodka, and baking soda. It’s delicious!” Schmookovsky took a sip and smiled. “Hey, this is good!” he exclaimed, and quickly emptied the rest of the glass. “I’ve gotta pay you for this!” he said, pulling out a large wad of hundred dollar bills.
29
“No, no. I told you, the drink’s on me!” I said as I gave Maria a knowing wink.
Schmookovsky kept arguing, insisting that he be allowed to pay me. For him, it was merely an excuse to flash the wad of hundreds in my face.
He was such an ostentatious bastard, I knew he’d be unable to resist.
Plus, he figured that waving all that money in my face was even worse than shooting me, and he was right.
Meanwhile, Maria crept up behind him and smashed him on the back of the head with a barstool.
“Thanks, baby” I said. “He almost got me!”
“Oh, no, thank you, Mr Banner. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have had no chance against Schmookovsky and his band of thugs!” Maria said as she wrapped herself around me.
“Call me Ira,” I replied, and kissed her.
“Gee, this is just like in the movies!” she said.
“Yeah, only if they ever made a movie about me, it’d no doubt be some low budget piece of garbage. There’d be some no-talent loser playing me, and. . well, I hate to even think about it. Come on, let’s take this ugly SOB down to police headquarters.”
Everything seemed just peachy keen as Maria and I left Duke’s that night. How was I to know that Laura Shaw would be so ticked off about what had happened between us that she would try to rook me out of my hard earned dough, and that I wouldn’t be able to collect for another three weeks?
Of course, it all turned out not to matter much, anyway. Sure, I lost my apartment, but I won the lottery a few days later and have been living the high life ever since.
30
Wel , that’s my story, for what it’s worth. Until next time, I’m Ira Banner, King of the Detectives.