It was hot enough to soften wax, but being the professional I am, I couldn't even loosen my tie. So I topped off my glass of bourbon and fired up another Lucky, then sat back and stared through the glass at the workman putting the finishing touches on my new office door. That's me, Jocko "muddy" Murdoch. Why do they call me Muddy, you ask. Well, friend, that's another story. I have to tell this one before I lose my sanity.
By 10:30 the workman was gone and I had switched to gin. Then the door opened and in walked Monique. A shadow fell across my desk so I glanced up. My first reaction was that I had looked directly into hot sun, but looking back on it now, I think it was more like looking into a black hole. She unwrapped herself from a full length mink coat, revealing a black dress cut so low I could see Cleveland.
How can I describe Monique? She had a walk that would make a bald man blush, and skin smoother than freshly pressed sheets. And her eyes. They were the color of cigarette ash, with flecks of white that reminded me of tv static. I was in heat until she spoke. And what she said made me feel like the scum that forms on your teeth during the night.
"I came to you because you're in debt up to your nose hair, which makes you desperate enough to work cheap. You're insignificant looking, and people say you're tenacious, which is exactly what I need."
I was somewhat taken back by this tirade, but still managed a rather witty retort. "You need a hernia babe." She didn't crack a smile. "I want you to find my....
Badman and Robin lunchbox. Here's the clearest picture of it I could find. It's not much to work with, but anyone who can find his way into a bottle should know where to start.
I took the Polaroid from her hand noticing the large signet ring on her index finger. It looked like a lazy "N", you know, like it had fallen over on it's side, with the background being a crescent moon. Anyway, the snapshot was the worst exhibit of photography I've seen in months. "Who's the lug?" I queried.
Monique seemed hesitant at first, but then the look of a wet puppy engulfed her face. "He's my dead half-brother, William." It took some time before Monique stopped crying, so in the mean time I walked down to the 5 and dime form some more smokes. Damn, they were all out of Lucky's. Probably some you punks got hold of their mom's egg money.
It was after 2:30 before the little dutchman plugged the dam and I was able to dip into her well of.........information. It seems that her stepfather married her mother Martha to discourage his son from marrying his true love, Monique. Now, if the two young lovers wed, Monique would have been socially extricated for marrying a half brother, devastating the socially conscious Martha. "But what's the dirt on the lunchpail?" I asked.
"Well," Monique replied, "before William died, he told me.....
that his father, Montesque, my step father, had at one time been involved in illicit lunchbox smuggling from Paraguay. It seems that he and his partners had a falling out of sorts and my father left Paraguay with most of the profits and a bullet hold in his butt the size of a five drachma piece."
"How does all this tie in with the Dynamic Duo lunchpail?" I somewhat saucily inquired. (This was due to my recent completion of the gin).
"William believed that his father believed he was being followed all the time," she retorted.
"Do you believe him?" I asked, somewhat more gently this time.
"I believe that William believed it," she murmured as she came closer.
"I still don't know what this has to do with the box used by youngsters to transport food to and from the edifices of higher learning," I eschewed.
"William's last words concerned an obscure reference that was scratched on the inside of the box," she breathed in my ear.
"Can you describe what these scratchings looked like?" I said over my shoulder as I scuttled to the other side of the room, the odor of garlic and onions still clinging to my ear. Whew!
"It was a map with a big X on it that had the words 'Burial site of the money that was stolen from partners in Paraguayan lunchbox smuggling scheme,' etched on it. I never thought much of it," she rasped as she circled by desk in an effort to draw close again.
I executed a neat dive between her legs and came up standing near my desk. I knew there was a bottle of Lavoris or Listerine buried underneath the booze bottle somewhere. To hold her off a little longer I asked her, "why the sudden change of heart? When you first came in, you were treating my like a three week old piece of cheese, now you're trying to use your tongue as a Q-tip."
"That was just the use of feminine wiles on my part," she husked as she coyly lunged at me, but a stiff-arm to her sternum stilled her momentarily. While she worked to regain her strength for another charge, not unlike a rhino going after a tourist couple from Newark, she asked another question. "I noticed your first name is Jocko, does that have something to do with some special characteristic on you part?"
"Jocko doesn't mean anything special," I replied as I hefted a chair, checking it's quality as a weapon, "but my nickname Muddy comes from.......
my father's side of the family. Everybody had a nickname-- Middy, Moody, Maddie-- but that's not important now. What is important is this lunch box. When was the last time you saw it?" the long speech dried my mouth out, so I took a swig of rye and waited expectantly.
"Well, the twins took it to school last Tuesday, and I haven't seen it since." Monique sat down with a heavy sigh. "Actually, I haven't see the twins since Tuesday either."
I'd had enough. At the snails pace she was spilling the story, I wouldn't make it to the track on time. "Spill it, Dollface," I yelled, and graciously offered her a drink. There was more to this dame than great gams, because she downed by last fifth of scotch without blinking, then began her story.
"The twins, Pueblo and Albuquerque, are William's and mine. I was already pregnant when Montesque married mother. I had to go to my aunt's place in Quebec to have the babies, claiming I was there for my health. You know, how and cold winds are supposed to be good for you." She paused, blew her nose, drank most of my rum, then continued haltingly. "When I returned with two newborn babies, I had to tell everyone they were my sister Martinique's, who had just died in a plane crash off the coast of Martinique." How ironic.
Her voice had changed into a mewling noise which reminded me of root canal and was fast giving be a migraine. I searched desperately for something to drink as she continued her tale.
"The only people who knew the true parentage of Pew and Albie were William, Aunt Sylvie, and myself. Montesque suspected, but as long as Martha is alive he can't do anything about it." Monique glanced at me with big doe eyes, expecting guidance. Fortunately, a bottle of sherry had allowed me to regain my composure.
"So the twins have been missing since last Tuesday. Have you or Aunt Sylvie or Martha received a ransom note? Or blackmail threats?"
"Aunt Sylvie is dead. She fell through thin ice and drowned. The Quebec police think it was murder, because Sylvie was confined to a wheelchair, and the chair was in her house eight miles from the lake." Monique paused, gulped down some brandy I'd forgotten I had, then continued. I knew it was going to be bad news about Martha. "Martha's in a coma, the result of being hit on the head by a street lamp, which fell on her 3 nights ago."
"I think we should go talk to Montesque about this. He should be able to fill in some of the gaps. Where is he?"
"Not Montesque!" she shrieked, startling me into dropping my last bottle of wine--the one stuck way back in the lower drawer which I save for emergencies. "I couldn't stand seeing his smirking face again. He'll.......
only offer Kool-Aid to drink. And it's really watered down stuff too."
"Get a grip honey," I said as I walked over to the closet, retrieving my modified Sam Spade trenchcoat. "I've got that scenario covered," and showed her the 14 flasks sewn into the lining. It's not the best attire for sneaking up on someone unless you're near the ocean, but they have stopped a fist or two from doing major damage to parts of my anatomy.
I decided to let her chauffeur drive, only because I hadn't replaced the burned out interior of my Matador...rebuilt the engine after I ran it without oil...found 4 tires that hadn't been slashed before I owned them...plugged the leaky radiator...or remembered where I put my keys. Besides, I realized drinking and driving don't mix like the scotch and water found in the dry bar. The drive with Monique in the back seat was quite an experience in itself, but I'll leave that for another time when things seem to be going slow, and foreshadowing may come into play.
We arrived shortly before diner at the "Weldwood Estate", a run down establishment on the western edge of the society district. "It's been deteriorating ever since Papa passed on," Monique said embarrassingly. Does the name Weldwood carry any significance I pondered. The grounds were sprawling, or so it seemed. It could have been the cooking sherry that set off a sensory battle of depth perception.
As we drove up to the main house, I replayed all the scrambled events and facts related to me this morning. Monique's entrance into my office. Her first words. Our first drink. William. Batman and Robin. Our second drink. The ring. No smokes. The photo. Our third drink. Our first drink. Pew and Albie. Paraguay. No gin. Garlic and onions. Aunt Martha. The chauffeur. Aunt Martha and the chauffeur. My stupid tie. The painter. No more bourbon. Aunt Martha and the chauffeur and his stupid tie. Could it be possible that... "...promise me, Muddy," faded in Monique. "Yea, sure doll-face" I replied, not wanting to look stupid. Being a detective, I should be able to find out later what it was that I promised.
We entered the great hall and were escorted to the library where we were introduced to another guest, Colonel Mustard, who, strangely, was holding a candlestick in his hand. I didn't have time to inquire about his pewter pet before Montesque entered. He immediately walked towards Monique.
"Ahh, Monique, what a lovely surprrrise," he said as he pinched her cheek. "Come have some cherrrrrry Kool-Aid." I immediately saw the pain in Monique's face, much like that from removing a nose hair with a tweezer. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but the way Montesque spoke reminded me of something in a bottle. "Who is yourr frriend my dear" he continued.
This should be interesting. We hadn't managed to discuss how to explain me presence or relationship to her step father. "This is J.M. Murdoch. He's an old friend from college in town doing research on the migratory habits of the horny toad. I hope you don't object to my inviting him over for dinner," Monique replied. Quick thinking, and I was in luck too. I had just read an article in the Inquirer on horny toads.
"Welcome, Mrrr. Murrrdoch. Would you like some Kool-Aid?" "Cerrrtainly," I replied unthinkingly. Montesque shot me a penetrating look then continued to pour. It's the r's. He rolls the r's. What a fine piece of detective work, I thought, and congratulated myself. I thanked Montesque for the Kool-Aid then managed to position myself near the verandah. With my back to everyone, I was able to enhance my drink with whatever was in flask #1. Monique must have realized what was happening and became engulfed with envy. The rest of the evening, she asked is she could take my coat, but I just smiled, coyly.
"Dinner is served," chimed in the butler, who then disappeared as silently as he appeared. "Let us adjourrrn to the dining rrroom," replied Montesque without hesitation. As we all took our seats in front of steaming bowls of soup, Monique noticed and extra place setting at the table. "Who is your other guest, Montesque?" she asked, sipping the soup.
"Why, it's me, my dear," came a voice from the foyer. Everyone turned to see who it was. "How nice of you to make it, Marrrtha," said Montesque. Monique fainted. "I hope it's not the soup," the butler murmured. Aunt Martha. She wasn't dead. I couldn't keep quiet any longer, and I needed another drink. "Where's the booze, and Aunt Martha, tell us why....
you're dressed up like Carmen Miranda?" (You know, the lady from the old musicals who always wore the hats of fruit), I demanded. Things seemed to be getting a little out of hand and it was time to get a few answers.
"Why, this is the way I always dress, isn't that right dearest?" this last being addressed to Monteque.
"Cerrrrtainly my dearrr. This hat is one of yourrr finest yet. I parrrticularrrly like the use of cherrries and strrrawberrries in this model," he rolled back in reply.
This was almost too much for my very nearly sober mind to deal with so without another word I deftly knocked my soup spoon onto the floor and bent down to pick it up. I hadn't even gotten flask number six (or was it number eight?) to my lips yet when Monique stirred from her position under the table, where she had slid after fainting. Being ever the chivalrous gentleman I offered her the newly opened flask, after taking a quick swig myself, to revive her spirits. A good thing I had taken the swig too, for she downed the remains of the flask (I think it was rum) without batting an eye.
"Thank you" she whispered. "We had better go back topside before we get company down here."
"It's so good to have your returrrn to us Mrrr. Murrrdoch," Montesque purred. "We werrre beginning to worrry."
Like a knight in shining armor the butler then appeared with a tray of liquor saying, "I believe you had made an inquiry about booze sir?" Without hesitation I reached onto the tray and unerringly grabbed my favorite pain-killer, a bottle of tequila. Quickly gulping about a quarter of the contents allowed me to continue.
"Enough already." The liquid gold had given me back my courage and tenacity. "I need some answers right now to a few nagging questions and I'm going to get them if I have to stay here all night."
Martha was somewhat taken aback by this bold statement and began to look at me in a new way. "Certainly Mr. Murdoch," she cooed as sidled up beside me. "If you need to stay here all night to answer a few questions you're more than welcome to. Isn't that right Monty?" this last part to a now steaming Montesque. Sheesh. Like daughter, like mother. What was with these dames?
Montesque was now sputtering helplessly with rage, and Monique was batting her eyes at me, waving her arms over her head, and jumping up an down in place, trying to attract my attention without the others noting it. It was then that I remembered the role I was supposed to be playing and I decided that now was a good time to start playing it again.
"Yes, I demand some answers to some old questions. Like how does a male horny toad differentiate between sexes? I mean, hey, they all look the same to me." I was beginning to warm to the topic now. "Monique has told be that the grounds of Weldwood here are a veritable horny toad paradise. So I'm planning to sped the evening out on the grounds studying the mating practices of the elusive horny toad."
This last had cleared me with Montesque, who was now down to a mellow shade of pink, but had not yet gotten me clear of Martha who was looking me over like a tasty morsel.
Trying to recover from her recent embarrassment, Martha tried to hide it my busying herself with dinner. It was then that I noticed something interesting about her. Around her finger was a ring identical to the one worn by Monique. Wanting more information on this I casually asked "Say, could you tell me a little something about...."
my question was rudely interrupted by a hail of bullets. I watched in awe as cherries, strawberries, and bits of Martha's head flew into the air. "The Parrraguayans! The Parrraguayans!" Montesque began to shriek. He fell to his hands and knees and began to scuttle across the floor. Bullets chipped the tile behind his feet. He shot through the doorway to safety, slamming the heavy oaken door behind him.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Experience from many a gun battle had taught me to remain stationary during the exchange because most people couldn't hit a stationary target. My booze-laden brain lied to me. I had that all backwards, I realized, as a row of slugs stitched across my chest, knocking me on my butt. Blood flowed copiously down my jacket and pooled around me. As I waited calmly to die, I took the time to look around one last time. Martha was dead. Monique was dying. The butler was hiding under the dining table cradling two bottle of Rothschild '28, and four unsavory looking characters were entering the room through the shattered veranda windows. They headed for the downed women first. As three huddled around Monique, the fourth was busily working the signet ring from Martha's finger. I listened intently as the men jabbered at Monique.
"The reeng! Where es the steenking reeng! Answer me, you beech!" Monique was too far gone to answer, but I knew. Finally I knew.
Montesque had stolen the five sacred rings of the Aztec pumpkin God, Billy. Each of the Montesque women had been given one ring. A brilliant hiding place. Now Martinique, Aunt Sylvie, and Martha were dead, Monique dying, and Albie missing. So which ring didn't the Paraguayans have?
Their leader rose and headed toward me. Something about him was very familiar, especially the nonchalant way he kicked Monique's lifeless body out of the way. My vision was blurring, so I couldn't quite make out his features. "Jocko," he said, "why are you sitting in a puddle of sloe gin?" I wasn't shot? Then I recognized the voice. "Raoul, you bastard, help me up." I don't know which made me happier, living, or seeing my old war buddy. "Why the slaughter? And why the stupid accent?"
"Sorry about the accent, Mud-- The gods demand sacrifice. Whoever wears a ring must die. But I'm missing one ring and running out of time. If I don't have the last ring by midnight tomorrow..."
I will lose my subscription Mercenary Today and the Imperial War Museum.
"I still don't get it," I said to Raoul as my lips mouthed some Chinese incantation. Evidently the tequila had affected my motor skills by reverting to the most basic of all methods of communication: a translated Kung-Fu movie. "Everyone knows Billy's powers peak only during the 3rd year after Pluto and Venus align with the conservative right wing of Parliament, not for a least another century or two."
"Yes, but the Travelers, congregating just south of Stonehenge are capable of combining Billy's powers with Druidic incantations during the summer solstice to produce profound, preposterous effects. Their goal still eludes me, but it keeps me mum's legs from being broke by the bookies."
Right then we were interrupted by one last gurgle emanating from Monique's contorted body, prompting me to take flask inventory, slowly moving toward the Rothchild, anticipating the need to replenish. "Well, have you had a visual on the last ring?" I asked. With my client dead and thus all forms of payment terminated, I thought I might hook up with Raoul's pay for performance group. It didn't even cross my mind what my initial task was at the time, but then... What was that again? I sat back down in the sloe gin, hoping to sop up what was remaining with hopes of squeezing it out later.
"Not really," replied Raoul. "We think Montesque is preparing to execute his diabolical scheme this weekend from his distillery south of here, but we don't have an inside man. Do you know of a detective in spirits we could use to get close enough to learn the entire plan?"
First I looked down, then I looked up with a sheepish grin on my face, knowing that I was in a perfect position to name my fee with the inside track that I had. Montesque had taken an instant liking to me, and the fact that I had a burning desire to learn more of the horny toad couldn't hurt. "Gee, Raoul, if you want, I could help you out, you know, for old time's sake."
Raoul looked at me cautiously, then said, "I must let you know what you're getting in to. To join this Holy Quest you must pass the Aztec initiation. If you cannot pass this, you will be....
cast into a singing role in a musical along side Clint Eastwood and Shelley Duvale. Do you still want to go through with it?"
An involuntary shudder overtook me for a moment at the horrific images that this called to mind. Since my prospects for employment at the moment were very nearly as grim as Raoul's proposition, what choice did I have? "I don't suppose you could give me a few pointers on what to expect of this initiation ceremony. Just for old times sake you understand."
Raoul then gave me that old grin that told me all I needed to know before he continued. "Of course not. The words of the Aztec pumpkin god Billy are very strict on the point of helping anyone pass the initiation. It would not only cost me and my family their lives if I were to help you, but also the lives of my butcher, baker, and proctologist."
Something about this seemed vaguely familiar, but I didn't have time to ponder the significance of this group further so I filed away this information for a later time. Right now I had more pressing matter to attend to, such as the fact that the butler was scuttling across the floor in an attempt to exit the room. I couldn't let this happen as I still had some questions requiring answers and more importantly I could see he still clutched the Rothchild. "Say Raoul, could you get one of your boys to stop the butler from leaving the room?" Even before I finished my statement I realized my mistake. Before I could get the bottle of Irish whiskey from my mouth and shout out, Raoul had already signaled to one of his men who quickly tattooed the butler's body with a hail of lead. Damn. I could see the Rothchild running across the floor from here. It didn't matter anyway because it was then that Raoul informed me it was time to leave. The initiation ritual must be conducted before midnight or else someone else would be forced to die, and I had a sneaking suspicion about whose name appeared at the top of that list.
The next couple of hours were a blur of powerful cars, screeching around corners in a a rush to reach the night's destination. the entire time Raoul imparted to me what was allowed for me to know, while helping me drain several more of the bottles in my coat.
We finally stopped with a jolt in front of an eerie mansion that loomed over it's circular driveway like an enormous bird of prey. I had the feeling if I let my guard down it would lean down and rip out my bowels as I stood there. "Cheery place you got here," I stated with all the enthusiasm of a mortician.
"It ain't much, but it is dreary," was all Raoul had to say. He seemed nervous. Nervous like a mouse at a cat show, looking all around, but particularly in back of him, as if he expected a giant paw to stop on his tail and trap him in place. Even the metaphors and similes coming to my mind seemed particularly grim. Must be something in the air.
I was led inside the house and down a flight of stairs, following the increasingly nervous Raoul. At the bottom of the cellar steps was a long hallway with many doors opening off of it. We proceeded down the hall to the third door on the right. It was here Raoul stopped and stepped to one side while his men stood on the other side, close to the wall.
"Go ahead and open it Muddy," he said with a tongue that was as thick as a summer sausage.
Seeing as I had no choice but to open the door or else to run screaming from the house with bullets ripping me open, I quickly opened the door and thrust myself into the room. It was here I received a huge shock as before me was.....
a long brown table heaped with cases of Rainier Dry. "NO," I screamed, and tried to back from the room. But my way was blocked by Raoul and his men, who were removing their military fatigues, revealing fluorescent green and pink clothing.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Raoul said with a laugh. "This is your initiation. As I have explained, each ceremony is tailored to fit the personality of the subject. You must drink all of this by morning, or pass out trying, to prove yourself worthy of doing the bidding of the all powerful and quite cuddly Pumpkin God. And to help motivate you, every episode of The Brady Bunch will be shown on that monitor over there," and he pointed at a 60 inch television with stereo surround sound and a high density dot matrix capable of bringing Greg's bell bottom pants to life.
"Bring me Clint Eastwood," I begged as they locked the door, leaving me in darkness, except for the glow of Cindy talking to Kitty Carryall. I was hypnotized by the sight of the children growing up, and Mike's hair style changing repeatedly. Was I doomed to failure? Would Alice ever change butchers?
I opened a can. Christ, they didn't even have the decency to provide me with bottled beer. Death, or worse, seemed imminent as I took that first fateful sip.... and passed out. Rough hands shaking me brought me back to reality. "One fucking can!?!?! That's all you could drink? My god, what a disappointment. Billy won't be happy." Raoul shook his head, shook my hand, apologized, and cut off my left ear. "The gods demand sacrifice, remember? Hold still while I cauterize the wound," and he pushed a road flare against the side of my head. I passed out.
Soft hands gently stirred me into awareness, and a very small girl, almost like a china doll, was mopping the sweat from my forehead. I knew instantly that this was Albuquerque Montesque, the missing daughter and owner of the last signet ring. How did she get here? Where was the fifth ring? Why was she still alive? Question upon questions, and no way to find out. Except maybe to ask, so I turned to her as I said, "How did you get here? Where is the fifth ring? Why are you still alive?"
"Ssssh, don't try to talk. Raoul might hear that you are awake, and he's mighty pissed at you. There's a nickel deposit on those cans and none of his men can stand the stuff. Let me introduce myself. I'm Mai Ling, the China Doll. I work for Li Chin, alias Mr. Chin, who serves the One Who Has No Name. The Nameless One is in direct opposition to The Pumpkin God--God, Ha! A miserable wretch who can only intimidate mindless savages into bloody religious conflicts, but I digres--in the quest of the sacred rings. Those rings fit the 5-sided Box of Power, which will bring ultimate power (naturally) to whoever places the fifth ring into its appropriate place. Placing the fifth ring is the key. Raoul has four rings and Chin has one. My task, with your help, is to trick Raoul into placing his rings into the box first. Li Chin is nearby, he is always near, when serving the Unnamed One. He will place the all important fifth ring into the box, giving the One Without A Moniker total domination of all the Titleless Godlike Guy surveys."
"But what happened to Albie? How did you get her ring?" From the look in her eyes I knew I didn't want to hear the terrible answer...
"She mailed it to us," the one with a name who works for someone with a name who works for the one with no name replied. "We knew that Alvie was in touch with a phone psychic she had seen on Oprah, so we intercepted one of her calls. After learning that she hocked it for some lunchbox, we informed her that her life would turn around if she sent it to us for further psychic evaluation."
God, that'd be the shits- going for the buried money when you could have all the power that the Nameless one was bout to receive. What a shame. No client. No booze. No future retainer. No trip to Cleveland. (or was that Pittsburgh?) I missed out on everything.
"Jocko, why would she want an old rusted lunchbox?" It was just like Mai Ling to think about food when all I wanted were the bottles of Rothschild. "It has to do with some stupid riddle" she continued. Typical, you can never get them to shut up once they've started. "They're are part of an elaborate puzzle to unlock some vault in a cave filled with bats. Who cares. As long as I don't miss All My Children."
"What was the riddle?" I asked in a non-caring tone of voice (or was it the inferior Rainier Dry?)
"Something like 'It has a map with a big X on it which will mark the burial site of the money that was stolen from partners in Paraguayan lunchbox smuggling scheme,'" the China Doll with a name replied. "What kind of riddle is that?"
It was all sounding too much like an election year (or was it the Rainier Dry?) The same promises of a pot of gold at the end of the railroad tracks. Over and over again. Will this case ever end so I can call my sister Middy? I though if I could get a ride home...nah, the chauffeur cold only spit blood out of his mouth when I asked him for a lift. I had better focus on the case at hand. I owed that much to Monique.
"........but I must go now," she said quickly. Looking around the room to see where there might be her secret door, or if Li Chine was really close by, I didn't notice that the named doll who came for a big asian country had retrieved a can of The Pumpkin God's nectar and opened it under my nose. I passed out.
I somehow woke up in the mansion's kitchen. Seeing Raoul seated at the other end of the kitchen table, I had to think of something that wouldn't raise any suspicions, and fast "What looks good?" I inquired. I didn't bother to tell him what I had learned. After all, I still hadn't been paid, and this might be the ticket to greener pastures. I had to trust Raoul not to put me under one of those green pastures. He just looked at me long and hard, penetrating my mind, examining my soul. "Certainly not you. Have you been getting the right vitamins lately?"
Great. A health conscious mercenary. What's the world coming to? "It's been hell, especially trying to find a job after the war (or was it the Rainier Dry?)"
"My men have been trying to find Montesque. So far, we've come up empty handed," Raoul said, standing up and walking towards me. "You are going to become our inside man at the distillery. Montesque doesn't know of our history together, and I know you will remain true to old friends," he added in a softer tone of voice, gently brushing his hand across my scarred ear.
It was nearly evening before we had gone over all the plans on how to approach Montesque, gain his confidence, and track down the other ring which I now know he doesn't have. As we got up from the table, I turned to see another figure enter the room--it was Montesque's son William! Raoul looked completely agitated and shouted. "William, I told you to...."
please don't squeeze the Charmin. You know how I hate it when the rolls rattle on the dispenser."
"Sorry Whipple" replied the completely unruffled William. "You know I only do it to annoy you, and it pleases me greatly to see you annoyed", said William as he seated himself on a divan.
Now things were beginning to grow truly weird. Monique had been quite convincing in stating that William was dead. This was pretty strong evidence to the contrary. It was time to get some answers to some of the big questions such as, 'Who is it that watches Geraldo?' Before I could spit one out however William started up again in a tone that convinced me he looked at me in much the same way as I had looked at the horny toad.
"So you're Murdoch," he grated, like a fine parmesan. "Martinique and I were just discussing you." What! Martinique alive also? I began to look around the room with a nervous twitch expecting to see Monique and Martha to come limboing through the door any moment now. Wasn't anyone really dead? "She thinks you may have some uses, but I'm not quite so convinced," he continued. "Why don't you tell me why I should keep you alive as opposed to having you feed the snake?" he slithered.
Feed the snake? That didn't sound particularly inviting. This time I was ready with the snappy comeback though. "....."
"He's got an in with Montesque," Raoul interrupted. "Seems as though the old boy took a liking to our saucy friend here. And oh, by the way, I killed the mother of your children a little earlier tonight," Raoul concluded with a vicious whisper. Was I going to get a speaking part or not?
"Good riddance" retorted William. "The only thing I needed her for was her uncanny ability to...."
adjust my TV antenna to improve reception. We don't have cable out here, you know. But she loved daytime TV too much- Oprah, Montel, Geraldo- she tried to change me. What a pain. So, Mr. Mud Man, plead for your life."
Boy, am I confused. What the hell was going on? Better make something up, and fast. "I'll go to the distillery tomorrow and find out where the lunchbox and ring are, come back here and give them to you, and be on my way. I want to go to Las Vegas. Free booze all day long." William was buying it. He turned to Raoul with a sly grin. Raoul returned the look, and it was like they were already enjoying ultimate power.
Just then the secret panel slid open. "Li Chin! It's Li Chin!" I cried, and jumped out the window. Both Raoul and William panicked. They turned machine guns toward the door and rained bullets through the dark opening. But it wasn't Li Chin they killed. It was Martinique with the twins, who tumbled out bleeding profusely from many fatal wounds. The twins had been at the Mega Mall all that time and come home when they'd run out of quarters. Too bad.
Fortunately for me I landed in a hay wagon, driven by my first wife April Ramirez, who also happened to be Raoul's current wife and a member of the Paraguayan consulate.
"Hiya Mud" she said, with a sly grin. "What's the ruckus?" as bullets sprayed around us from the window upstairs, which suddenly exploded outward, flames shooting 30 feet into the air, and tossing Raoul and William over the cliff, never to be heard from again. "Its been a bad day for the Montesque family, April. And I'm sorry about Raoul." She shrugged it off casually saying "He ate crackers in bed" and left it at that. On the long ride down the mountain she explained almost everything. "Now its just you and me, Montesque, and Li Chin. I have 4 rings, Mr. Chin one ring, and Montesque the map. But there is one puzzle left. This note which says 'Tom will know what to do.' Tell me Muddy, who's Tom, and what do we do?" (Well, Tom?)
There it was. The cat was out of the bag and I had to think of a cover story fast. Who had found out? And how? This left me as angry and puzzled as a bank teller who is actually forced into waiting on a customer. No one was to know that Tom was actually an acronym that stood for Tragically Obese Muddy. A nickname that only a few people outside of the family had ever known about. And now here someone involved in this convoluted affair knew about it. At least now he had an overriding goal. To find the offending party and to choke the life out of them with their own intestines. But not before finding out what it was I was supposed to know. Someone knew a lot more than they were letting on, and that left me puzzled. And if there's one thing I disliked almost as much as someone knowing my old boyhood nickname, it was being puzzled.
"Forget about Tom," I snapped at her like a too taut rubber band. "Have you got anything to drink?" Hopefully this would divert her attention from the question of Tom, but more importantly it seemed like hours since I'd last had a drink, and the chill and clammy maw of sobriety was beginning to loom closer. Hell, I could probably drink a Rainier Dry by this point.
Without answering she dug into her bag and produced a fifth of whiskey. I snatched the bottle and quickly poured the contents down my throat. Thus refreshed I was able to speak again in a somewhat less agitated manner. "Thanks babe." Then I was struck by sudden inspiration and acted on it immediately, "Don't you think it's about time that this story was interrupted by a gratuitous sex scene that doesn't necessarily advance the plot, but does satisfy the needs of a certain portion of our audience?" Again without a word April pulled the wagon over to the side of the road and unceremoniously dragged me down into the hay of the wagon with her.
Several minutes later found the two of us relaxing in the back of the wagon and finally April spoke again, "Just like old times, eh Muddy?" she asked me coyly as she lay there beside me.
"Yeah. Sorry about that. Maybe next time. You know I've been through a lot the last couple of days, and this hay really itches something fierce." She had caught me off guard. It was time to get back into the role of gruff private eye who needed no one and wanted nothing he couldn't come up with on his own. "Enough of the chatter babe." I continued as I began to dress. Whaddya know. A bottle of gin hidden in the seam of my pants. What a pleasant surprise. "It's time that we........"
"...went to my AA meeting -- I haven't missed one in six years. And with my screwy schedule that's pretty impressive. Don't you agree?" I looked over at April, expecting some sort of congratulations, just in time to see her topple off the wagon with a shocked look on her face. I scrambled to the wagon's edge and watched a half-naked April tumble head over heels down the hillside, her tight little bottom twinkling in the moonlight. Damn, she'd just arrived, too.
I took the reins and started the wagon towards town. The team of horses was well acquainted with the winding roadway, which would give me a chance to think about this TOM business. There were only a handful of people left who knew of my nickname. Without going too deep into the gruesome details, let's just say you have to loop the intestines around your hands and wrists a couple times so they don't slip too much. Let's see, there was my high school gym teacher Joey Blue Eyes (he used to be in the mob, but after testifying the FBI changed his name and relocated him to my home town. He never did tell me what his original name was), the Pope, and my ex-partner Abel "The Snake" Turgess. He'd been really self-conscious since he grew a third arm, and my comment "now you can hold down both your sisters" didn't sit too well with him. Did he still hang out in Slippery Chicken, Arkansas?
"Jocko, you idiot! Wait up!" April yelled from the roadside, scaring the hell out of me. It scared the hell out of the horses, too, and I had just enough time to leap into April's ample bosom as the wagon shot over the edge. "Shit!" was all I could say as we watched the horses tumble mane over tail down the hillside, their tight little rumps twinkling in the moonlight. April touched my elbow comfortingly, commenting, "I've never seen a wagon tumble tongue over tailgate down a hillside before. Look how the tight little axles twinkle in the moonlight." Boy, it had been a long day. And now we had a long walk ahead of us, with only my sharp eyesight and sharper wit to protect us.
"Where are we g-going next, J-Jocko?" April asked, her teeth chattering. The mountain air was crisp, and having an alarming affect on April's breasts, making them stand up and salute. "You're nipples are pointing West" I replied, "so West is where we're going," and gave her my coat, hoping my glib response would cover my apprehension that I'd forgotten something. something cold and scaly slithering around in the back of my mind, waiting to strike with venomous fangs. Was I a mongoose or a mouse?
The sun was just cresting the mountains behind us as we reached the outskirts of town. I had been carrying April for the last few miles. (Believe me, what looks pleasingly plump in the daylight is a big sack of potatoes when you have to sling it over your shoulder.) She had fainted at the sight of the wagon and the horses. What was left of them, anyway. And I must be getting a little delirious, too, because they looked like they had been strangled with each other's intestines. I guess all I need was a hot shower, cold drink, and long nap to recover. I spotted a modest hotel across the street, the Olde Towne Inne, and headed towards it, hoping the proprietor wouldn't find my carrying an unconscious, partially clad woman suspicious. But it didn't look like I would get to find out, because running towards us was...
my ex-partner, Snake Turgess. He was dressed in his usual attire of a battered topcoat and rumpled fedora. He was running hard so I decided to stop and wait for him to approach. It didn't take long, he was making good time, all three arms swinging in continuous harmony. In just a couple of moments he came to a stop beside us.
"Hey Mud, how ya been. It's really strange running into you like this," he puffed at us.
"..." I started.
"Can't talk. I'm running in a 10k and I have a big lead on the other runners," he exhaled as he started up again. "See ya around. Tell April I said hi," this last delivered over his shoulder as he continued up the road. In the distance I could see a stream of panting individuals approaching at a moderate pace. This seemed like a good time to check out the inn. My arms were protesting the abuse I had been giving them and were contemplating a work stoppage.
The desk clerk snapped to attention clicking his boot heels together hard as we came in to the room. "Gutenaben mein herr," he gutturaled. "Vould you be interested in getting a room vor ze evenink?"
"Sure," I warily replied. "I want a room with at least a queen size bed, a hot shower, and a well stocked mini-bar."
"Zertainnly zir," he slathered, while eyeing April's recumbent form. "Vill you be requirink any azistance vith ze fraulein?" he cautiously spluttered.
"Nah, this is how she always travels," I quickly invented. "Just show us to our room."
The clerk pulled a cord hanging near the desk and a gunshot rang out, startling me nearly enough to drop the bottle of booze that I was raising to my lips. April lay in a heap on the floor. "What was that?" I asked as I reached towards the empty holster where my gun normally would be taking up residence.
"Ze bang? Zat iz just our vay of calling ze bell hop," he krauted. "Ve are just trying to create ze atmozphere of clazzical old English charm," he proudly stated.
This seemed logical to me so I didn't pursue it further. The bell hop was approaching and he was worthy of special attention in his own right. He was rail thin and had a spare head of hair to match. There was a dueling scar on the left side of his face that pulled the corner of his lip into a permanent hideous grin. On the right side of his face he must of had some sort of elective surgery so that the right side mirrored the unnatural grin of the left. But that wasn't what jumped out at me the most. His most distinctive feature was the.......
tiny New Years Eve hat. What made the hat so distinctive was the fact that it was sitting on the head of a small grey mouse, which was being carried around in a small backpack by a parrot with an eyepatch sitting on the head of a monkey with an eyepatch sitting on the shoulder of the bellhop. I looked closer, and sure enough the mouse had an eyepatch too. I was almost at a loss for words, but managed to say something glib, anyway. "Must be a bitch going thruough doorways" I remarked with a little grin.
"What are you talking about, sir?" the bellhop asked, with a very puzzled look on his face. "I'm not that tall."
"But the parrot on your shoulder sticks up so high. Doesn't it hit the door jamb?" I asked, with a very puzzled look on MY face.
"Parrot? What parrot?"
"That parrot! The one sitting on the monkey! On your shoulder!" I yelled, pointing at the animals.
"There is no parrot on my shoulder, sir" he replied, almost sadly, and shook his head. All three animals shook their heads as well.
"They're sitting on your shoulder, you imbecile! LOOK!"
The bellhop looked at his left shoulder, where I was pointing. But as he turned his head, the monkey quickly shifted to the right shoulder, and the bellhop saw nothing. "Sir, I am afraid you are mistaken." And they all shook their heads again.
I was becoming angry. "He moved to your right shoulder. Look in a mirror, for God's sake!" I tried to grab him by the sleeve, but he pulled away in anger. "Making light of another's disfigurement is very rude, sir. I am afraid I cannot stand by for any more crass remarks." And he turned quickly and strode out of the room, the monkey and parrot crouching down as he passed through the doorway, clearing by barely an inch. The monkey turned and gave me a malevolent stare just as they turned the corner and passed from sight. Boy, did I need a drink.
"I am afraid you have made Henri angry, my friend. It would be best if you left town quickly" the desk clerk said, losing his accent. " You will not be safe anywhere. Henri has a long reach, and is not afraid to inflict pain."
"HA!" I laughed, "Even on my worst day I can take a skinny bellhop. Where's the nearest bar?"
"You are a great fool, my friend. Henri is the mouse! The monkey and parrot are muscle. The bellhop, Oskar, doesn't know they are there. He is my cousin, you see, and slow witted. He refuses to look in a mirror, because of his scars, and the monkey is much too quick for Oskar to spot. No one in town knows what the mouse's plans are, but we learned years ago not to meddle. The cemetery is full of the inquisitive." With that, he turned and left the room. He didn't even tell me where the bar was.
I was at a loss on what to do next. No booze, no room, and a sack of potatoes named April. So I threw April across my shoulders and...
turned to see Montesque standing before me with a wicked grin contorting his already unhandsome features. Of course the most unhandsome feature was the .357 magnum that was now pointed squarely at my midsection. If memory served, there was a bottle of Southern Comfort stashed there, but even it wouldn't be able to stop a bullet from this gun.
"Mrrr. Murrrrdoch," he purred. "It is so good to see you again. I had hoped to see you again soon, and it apearrrrs my wishes have been grrrranted."
While my feverish brain quickly considered and even more quickly rejected a host of witty rejoinders, Montesque stepped forward and removed an ankle bracelet from April's handily raised ankle. An ankle bracelet I had somehow managed to overlook prior to this point.
"How cleverrrr of Ms. Ramirrrrrez to carrrrrrry the sacrrrrred rrrrrings in this strrrange mannerrrrr," Montesque finally continued after an interminable pause as if he expected more from me than strangled grunts. "I was most irrritated when I rrrrealized the rrrrings had disappearrred, but finding the pairrrrr of you herrrre has me feeling much morrrre trrrranquil."
I nearly collapsed under the sheer weight of the Rs that spewed from Montesque's maw. Fortunately I was spared further need to ponder pithy sayings as Montesque indicated I should precede him up a spiral staircase in the corner of the room. Seeing no alternatives, I preceded.
The stairs were short, but the climb arduous with the still senseless April draped over my shoulders. Again, things were looking pretty grim with no likely opportunities for turning the tables to something a bit more to my advantabe seeming likely. If only the China Doll could be waiting at the top of these coiled and ready to unleash some ancient eastern arts on my nemesis. But alas, as my foot cleared the top step I saw that there was indeed someone waiting for me. A brief flicker of hope was snuffed like a match in a hurricane when I realized who it was. There before me stood...
my father, Captain Jack "Midway" Murdoch. He was called Midway because during WWII he was a fighter pilot stationed in England. I hadn't seen dad since his plane crashed some ten years ago. His body had never been recovered, but he was regarded a hero by everyone, having died on a mercy mission flying lunchboxes from Paraguay to the less fortunate children in Guatemala---"HEY, wait a minute!" I yelled, "You were part of the smuggling operation! Wait til I tell mom!"
"Jocko, Jocko, Jocko" my father sighed, "you were never very bright, were you. A woman brings you a lunchbox from Paraguay and you never catch on. Well, let me explain. No, that would take to long. Let me sum up. Montesque and I discovered the secret of the rings during the smuggling operation. Lee Chin tried to kill me to prevent our gathering of the 5 rings. You were selected to unknowingly help us because of your bulldog tenacity and remarkable ability to stumble onto things despite being in an almost constant alcohlic daze. And now, thanks to you, we finally have all the rings. I don't know how you did it, but you found them. Montesque wanted to kill you many times over, but I kept telling him to have faith, right Montesque?"
"Corrrrrrect, my dearrrrr frrriend, Midway. And I must rrrrrepeat, what a rrrrrrrrridiculous nickname. As forrrr you, Misterrrrrrr Murrrrdoch, yourrrrrrr rrrrrrremarrrrrkable perrrseverrrrrrance deserrrves a rrrrewarrrrrrd. You and Miss Rrrrrramirrrrez may go." and Montesque waved his hand in dismissal.
Well, I was a little bit surprised. They were going to let me live! So I scooped up April and bolted down the stairs. I figured if I told April what had happened, maybe she could explain it to me later. I was quite upset about the alcohlic daze comment, though. ALMOST constant? I needed a drink.
The desk clerk gave me an odd look as I strode out the door into the harsh glare of the noonday sun. I sure hoped April woke up soon, I thought, as I walked toward to nearest tavern, The Toasted Almond. The sign over the door portrayed two squirrels arm wrestling. One squirrel was wearing a black beret, the other a pointed green cap with a purple plume. Very quaint. I pushed the swinging doors open, and as they slapped closed behind me, I heard what sounded like gunshots coming from the hotel. Naturally I turned to look out into the street, and caught a glimpse of some monkey-like animal darting into an alley. There appeared to be something grasped in one tiny little fist, something like a bracelet. This sure was a strange town. But the strangest thing was what emerged from the hotel next. It was.....
a man dressed as a Roman Catholic Cardinal, resplendent in his dark red robes of office. Dark red, like a still warm pool of blood. On his shoulder was perched the parrot with an angry looking Henri still riding in the backpack. This man obviously wasn't as slow witted as Oskar as he was looking directly at the mouse and appeared to even be having a conversation!
Of course this was the kind of thing I was accustomed to seeing most nights, but most nights I was generally too far gone on an alcoholic bender to even take note of something as ordinary as this, but here I was, veritably sober and seeing nearly as bizarre a tableau as alcohol would generally bring me. Things were starting to get weird.
"God damn it Muddy, put me down", were the words that next emanated from my shoulder as I contemplated my next move. Without waiting for my benumbed brain to come up with the appropriate response April pushed herself up and off my shoulder and landed deftly on the floor. Then she began to gently rub a knee and a hip. "What did you do, drop me?"
Typical. Dames. No thanks in 'em.
It was time to bring April up to speed on what had transpired in her temporary absence. "Listen dollface, things were just a wee bit hectic while you slumbered. We had a run in with Montesque and my father, Midway Murdoch. Not only did they get the ankle bracelet that carried the rings, but more importantly, the one hotel in this stinking burgh doesn't have any rooms available!" My dire delivery hadn't had the anticipated effect on the still groggy April. She must be groggy, because now she appeared to be laughing.
"Sweet, simple Muddy. Always ready to take things at face value," she blurted out between chuckles. "What makes you think they have the rings?" She lifted her bare ankle out from the depths of my voluminous coat and shook it's unclothed length at me. "Do you think I would hide the rings in such an obvious place?"
I turned and began to examine the bar to see what kind of drink I might be able to procure at this establishment, but mostly because I didn't want her to see the look on my face. A look that would have told her that things were getting just a tad bit surreal for my taste.
"Ok babe, maybe we haven't lost the rings. So maybe you can explain to me why it appears that a mouse with an eye patch seems to be running things in this town", I stated with the grim confidence that I knew I would have her stumped this time.
This got a reaction all right. She reacted by......
...wave toward a thin man standing in the shadows. He nodded toward a door which appeared to lead into the wine cellar, and quickly darted through it. April followed quickly, so naturally I followed too, because at this point I had no idea what was going on and was trying to come up with some idea. The cellar was lit by one naked bulb swinging in a non-existent breeze (aren't they all), shining down on a small table in the middle of the room between the racks of wine. Well, at least there would be something to drink while I tried to focus, both mentally and physically. On the table was a small wooden box and three glasses of red wine. The man and April sat down at the table and motioned for me to do likewise.
My glass was empty before I was completely seated, which brought a sharp frown and mutter from the man. He reluctantly refilled my glass, and hesitated slightly before setting the bottle on the floor beside him. That hesitation allowed me to notice to signet ring on his finger. It portrayed a squirrel with a black beret. I also noticed that he had a tattoo of a squirrel on each forearm, a squirrel earring, a squirrel necklace, and a squirrel patch sewn onto his right shoulder. Cleverly, I quipped "Do you have a squirrel's tail dangling from your bicycle handlebars?"
The sharp pain from April's kicking me firmly in the shin was nothing compared to the pain of the man smashing the box down on my left hand, breaking two of my fingers. "Jacque has no sense of humor about his family's royal insignia, Muddy," April said as she wrapped my fingers in a dirty rag. "Especially now that Montesque has thrown in with the Clan of the Purple Plume. This town was supposed to be considered neutral ground, but things have changed drastically."
My jaw had dropped so low you could have fit a football in my mouth. April noticed, and explained a little further. "The clans of the Black and the Purple have been fighting over this country for many years. Whoever held the box with the five rings was deemed worthy to rule, and if the other side could obtain the box, through trickery or strength, they were considered more worthy. That business about the Pumpkin God and the Nameless One is just a ruse to confuse outsiders. What is really at stake is control of the largest sapphire mine in the world."
I guess it sort of made sense, blaming it on religion when its really just about money. Oh hell, it made no sense at all. "What does the box have to do with a sapphire mine?" I asked, knowing I wasn't going to like the explanation. And my glass was empty, with no sign that Jacque would refill it. As April explained he looked angrier and angrier. Did he hate everybody, or just me?
"Well," April began, "the box was stolen from the Black two centuries ago. The thieves were caught crossing the river into Purple territory and the box was retrieved, but the rings were missing. The Purple claimed to have the rings, and therefore the rights, to half the mine, but they would not produce the rings to prove their claim. Since then, both sides have kept a small armed force at the mine, to prevent the other side from taking anything out. This town is the closest to the mine, and both armies resupply here. But now strangers have begun to turn up, including you and Montesque. And Li Chin and the Cardinal. If word gets out both clans will be destroyed. They really haven't advanced since the rings disappeared, and a large country like the United States could simply take over. Or a small country, for that matter. Sapphires are becoming more rare than diamonds, especially since they haven't produced anything from this mine in 200 years.
"So where are the rings, if they weren't on that bracelet? And what was on the bracelet, anyway?" I asked April calmly. My nerves had mysteriously returned, and I had so much confidence I stood up and fetched a bottle of wine from the rack. I pulled the cork out with my teeth, and began drinking confidently. " And what do you have to do with all this? The April I remember couldn't make change." I might be getting a little carried away, because Jacque was toying with a nasty looking knife, with a squirrel etched in the blade, of course.
April had a look of great sadness as she began to answer my questions. "The bracelet was full of cracker jack charms. They fetch a good price on the internet, and it was easier than carrying money. As for the rest..."