Trigger Doom and Gloom

    A gaunt man entered EJ’s Bar and looked around. His hair was graying at the temples and his moustache needed trimming. His suit was too big for him, and was several years out of style. He spotted a familiar face seated alone at a corner table and made his way over.
    “Spike?” The slim figure asked the seated man.
    “Who’s askin’?” Spike looked up with a scowl, then smiled with recognition. “Well, I’ll be! Trigger Doom, you old sonuvabith! How long you been out?”
    “A few days. Mind if I join you?” Spike gestured to the empty seat next to him and Trigger Doom lowered himself slowly into it.
    “You all right?” Spike asked.
    “Eh, my joints give me trouble.” Doom explained. “Ten years of hard labor takes its toll on a body.”
    “Cripes, has it been that long?” Spike asked.
    “Ten years.” Trigger snorted derisively. “Can you believe that? I got ten years for killing Czar Rennis, a notorious crime boss, and Steve the Tramp gets out after only seven! He shot four guards during an escape attempt, and he’s still out before me.”
    “You met Steve in the joint?”
    “Yeah, but after he ‘reformed’. He was always going on about how we should turn our lives around, how crime doesn’t pay, how mixing it up with Dick Tracy was the best thing that ever happened to him.” Trigger shook his head. “The guy was a nut.”
    “So, what are you going to do now?” Spike asked.
    “That’s why I’m here. I’ve been checking all the old haunts, but everything’s different. The Bird Club, Club Gray, Nothing Yonson’s Place, The Minute Bar, none of them are still in business. I don’t even know who’s running the Outfit these days.” Trigger sounded desperate.
    “Well, for one thing, nobody calls it the Outfit anymore.” Spike explained. “Now, it’s the Apparatus.”
    “’Apparatus’? What kind of name for a gang is that?” Trigger scoffed.
    “That’s just it, they don’t run it like a gang no more.” Spike spoke in a hushed tone. “It’s all run like a company now, with Presidents and Boards of Directors and lawyers on retainer and stuff like that. Some of the guys at the top have been to college even! They throw around their ten-dollar words and treat guys like us - guys with experience! – like garbage. Maybe we can work as muscle, but mostly they don’t want to know us.”
    “Brother…” Trigger leaned back in his seat as a shapely young waitress approached.
    “What are you drinking, mister?” She asked, with a squeaky voice.
    “Right now, I’m drinking you in, doll.” Trigger flashed a grin and the waitress blushed in spite of herself.
    “Why, you dirty old man…!” She said playfully.
    “I’m just giving you the business, honey. Get me a scotch and soda. And give it legs, huh?” Trigger watched the waitress hurry back to the bar, looking at him over her shoulder as she went. “Speaking of legs…”
    “Lay off it, Trigger.” Spike cautioned. “Dames are different nowadays. You’ve been out of commission a long time, remember.”
    “Some things never change, Spike.” Trigger spoke with an easy confidence. “Once I get back in the swing of things, I’ll have a dozen girls like that hanging off me.”
    “Sure, sure.” Spike sipped his beer.
    “Seriously, though, who’s the top man around these days? I need to get back in the inner circle, you know?” Trigger mimed holding a rifle. “I’ve got valuable skills.”
    “Ok, here’s what I can tell you. The guy in charge these days is a fella named William Millyun. But he goes by ‘Willie the Fifth’…”

*** 

    Willie the Fifth sat in his office, going over his latest reports. Flyface sat in the corner, reading the newspaper. They both looked up as they saw the hydraulic platform lower from the bar above. Two men were standing on it.
    “Jackie? What is this?” Fifth demanded.
    “This ain’t my fault, Fifth.” The young man protested. “He’s got a gun.”
    Trigger Doom stepped out from behind his hostage and showed the pistol in his hand.
    “I’m sorry to intrude.” Trigger said.  “I asked politely upstairs where I could find you, so I could introduce myself, but no one was cooperating. So…” Trigger indicated his gun.
    Willie the Fifth looked Trigger up and down, took a drag on his cigar, and laughed. “Haw! How do you like that? He’s sorry to intrude! He wants to introduce himself! I call that moxie! What do you call it, Flyface?”
    “Don’t call me ‘Flyface’.” The wrinkled man in the corner responded. “But, I’d certainly call him intrepid.”
    “Haw haw! Intrepid! That’s a great word!” Willie leaned back. “What’s say we let our intrepid intruder introduce himself, huh? What’s your name, 'Mr. Intro'?”
    “I’m Jimmy Doom. They call me ‘Trigger’.”
    “What, like Roy Rogers’ horse?” Millyun laughed more.
    “Yeah, like that. It’s real funny.” Trigger didn’t smile. “Are you Willie the Fifth?”
    “I refuse to answer that!” Fifth spat. Flyface shook his head and went back to his paper. “Sorry, force of habit. Yeah, I’m the Fifth. Jackie, go back upstairs and let me and the horse here talk, all right?”
    The younger man stood on the platform as it raised back up the to the bar. Trigger was impressed by the sophisticated device.  He turned back to Willie, who indicated at a chair.
    “Sit down, sit down.” Fifth puffed on his cigar some more. “Trigger Doom… I’ve heard of you right? From the old days?”
    “Yeah. I just got of prison.” Trigger explained. “I got sent up for killing Czar Rennis.”
    Willie pounded his desk. “That’s it! Czar Rennis! Odds Zonn used to talk about you!”
    Trigger smiled at the name. “Yeah! How is Odds these days?”
    “Oh, he’s dead.” Willie said, not losing his smile. “Dead a while now. But he always had good things to say about you! He hated Rennis, I’ll tell you. Always called him a smug bastard with his rigged slot machines.”   
    “Yeah, I thought that way, too.” Trigger began to relax. “He was no Big Boy, that’s for sure.”
    “You worked with Big Boy?” Willie’s hat brim covered his eyes, but his tone of voice sounded impressed. “Now, there’s a name from the past. Might as well say you helped Ben Franklin invent the wireless!”
    “That was Marconi.” Flyface chimed in. “Or Edison, depending on who you believe.”
    “See, that’s why I keep him around. Always has the right answer.” Fifth leaned in to Trigger. “So, you’re out of the clink, and what? You want back in the rackets? A fossil like you?”
    “Things can’t be that different. Crime’s still crime, right?” Trigger tried to sound confident.
    “Crime is, maybe, but cops aren’t. They got radios that they wear on their wrists nowadays. Constant contact and 24-hour surveillance even. It’s a whole different ballgame. You got to know your rights, and what they can and can’t do.” Willie the Fifth sounded menacing. Trigger desperately tried to avoid showing weakness.
    “I can learn. And you can trust me.” Trigger explained.
    “Like Czar Rennis trusted you?” Willie asked, pointedly. Trigger was lost for words until Willie laughed again. “Haw! I’m just pulling your legs. Lighten up, Doom. I pride myself on the loyalty I inspire in my people. Right, Flyface?”
    “Don’t call me ‘Flyface’.” He said, without looking up from his paper.
    “I love that guy.” Willie beamed. “Tell you what, I’m dealing with a power vacuum in my smuggling operation out on the coast. There’s nobody I can trust to monitor our incoming shipments and handle the payoffs to the Shore Patrol.”
    “I can do that.” Trigger said, eagerly.
    “Good. I hope you like boats.” Willie pressed the intercom on his desk. “Olive, come in here and meet Trigger. He’s going to need some travel accommodations.”
    ‘Olive’, huh? Thought Trigger Doom. 

-Years Later-

    Constable Ferret sat behind a table in the bookstore. A long line of people had formed, waiting for him to autograph their copies of his latest memoir. His wife sat next to him.
    “I wish the boys could have gotten out of school to see this.” Mrs. Ferret said wistfully. “They’d be so proud of you.”
    “I know, I know.” Ferret replied. “But they need their education. And besides, I’m not done with this book business! Not by a fair piece!” Ferret gave his wife a grin and wink, and wiggled his handlebar moustache at her. She chuckled, just as she had for the past thirty years.
    Trigger Doom stood in line, clutching a book to his side, waiting patiently. It wasn't Ferret's book, but the latest volume in a series of vocabulary builders that Trigger had taken to reading. He was determined not to place his hands on a copy of Ferret's book.
    After the disappearance of Willie the Fifth, Trigger had returned to the city to take control of Fifth’s criminal operation. There had been rivals - younger men, mostly - but none of them were as determined or as vicious. They had underestimated the older mobster, and one by one they either fell or came under Trigger’s control.
    None of them knew that Trigger Doom was their boss. He had adopted a new identity- Mr. Intro. One of his first goals in seizing power had been to eliminate anyone from the old days who might be able to identify him, and he had been very successful.
    Today, he was planning to settle another old score. Constable Ferret had been instrumental in Trigger Doom’s downfall, and now the diminutive police officer had published another collection of memoirs, this one including the details of the Doom case. The book was already a best-seller (which many observers attributed its accounts of the Constable’s interactions with Dick Tracy, the famous detective), and Ferret had been relentless in promoting it.
    Trigger was near the front of the line. He heard the woman ahead of him addressing the constable.
    “Tell me, Constable,” she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever solve the mystery of your daughter’s death?”
    Ferret sighed heavily. It was a question he had heard often. “Ma’am, I don’t know. Every day, the trail becomes more cold.” He turned to his wife, then looked back. “But, every day I feel myself become more resolute. Justice will be served for my poor dear daughter, either in this life or the next. I have every confidence of that, and I hope you’ll keep your confidence in the law.”
    Ferret signed the woman’s book and handed it back to her. She clutched it to her chest and gave the Constable a watery-eyed goodbye. Trigger Doom stepped forward. Ferret saw the book that he was holding and raised an eyebrow.
    “Say there, friend, you seem to have grabbed the wrong book.” Ferret picked a copy of his memoir off a pile on the table. “Here, I’ll sign this one for you. I know how the memory starts to slip as the years go by, after all…”
    Without speaking, Trigger dropped the book in his hand, and pointed a pistol at Ferret. Ferret’s wife screamed as Doom prepared to shoot. As his finger curled around the trigger, a sharp pain shot up his arm. Trigger’s hand cramped and stiffened, and he cried out.
    Ferret took advantage of the delay. Quickly, he lifted the open book off the table and slammed it shut around Trigger’s hand. Ferret twisted the book, turning Trigger’s arm around at the elbow.
   Trigger shouted in pain again. Letting go of the gun, he pulled his hand from the book. He turned to run, but Ferret had vaulted over the table and onto Trigger’s shoulders. Ferret pummeled Trigger’s head with sharp blows. Trigger stumbled around until he was able to throw Ferret off him into a wire rack filled with paperbacks.
    “Stop that man!” Ferret shouted as Trigger forced his way through the crowd and out of the store.  Ferret staggered to his feet and chased after Trigger. By the time Ferret reached the entrance of the bookstore, Trigger had lost himself in the city’s foot traffic.
    “I’ll remember you!” Ferret yelled, to no one. “I know your face! Criminal! Coward! I’ll remember!”

-Later-

    Trigger sat alone in his office, looking at his appointment book. He’d be back on the coast next week, comfortable on his floating fortress. The girls would be there, many of them new but with a few of his very favorites still on retainer.
    He felt secure on the boat. There were very few surprises or interruptions. The entire vessel was wired with cameras – some visible, some hidden – which enabled him to monitor all of the activity taking place around him. No one came on board or left without his personal approval, and everyone was subject to random, thorough body searches.
    Trigger knew that some of his subordinates – his Board of Directors – were beginning to question his methods. They thought he was coming unhinged. But Trigger knew that he was exercising reasonable precautions. Besides, once his position became more secure, he would be able to relax. Perhaps start to delegate, if he found someone that he could trust. 
    “Mr. Intro, there’s a woman here to see you.” Gertrude’s voice came through the intercom, dripping the same seductive quality that had convinced Trigger to hire her.
    “A woman? Who is she?” Trigger asked.
    “She says you don’t know her, but that you’ll be pleased to see her.” Gertrude replied.
    “Hmmm. Will I be?” Asked Trigger.
    “I wouldn’t be surprised…” Trigger could practically hear the smirk on Gertrude’s lips. Trigger activated the monitor on his desk which fed him the image from the TV camera in the outer office. It was only a black-and-white monitor, but what he saw was striking nonetheless.
    “All right, send her in.” Trigger placed the wire mesh mask over his face, then turned to face the door.
    A shapely young woman entered. Her hair was platinum blonde and exquisitely coifed. Her make-up was similarly flawless. What most intrigued Trigger, though, was her clothing, inasmuch as she did not seem to be wearing any. Rather, her body appeared to be painted with a series of elaborate patterns instead of an actual garment. As she stepped closer, Trigger could make out traces of a bathing suit that covered her most private areas, but the woman was still practically naked.
    “You must be Mr. Intro.” She said.
    “I am.” Intro replied. “You’ll understand if I don’t offer you a seat, Miss…?”
     “I’m called the Painted Lady.” She replied.
    “Well, I can understand the Painted part.” Trigger grinned, though she couldn’t see it. “As for the ‘Lady’ element, you do not make a very strong case.”
    “You’re a clever man, Mr. Intro.” The Painted Lady arched an eyebrow. “Or can I call you Trigger Doom?”
    Trigger stiffened in his seat. “Who told you to call me that?” He demanded.
    “I pieced it together based on a few rumblings I’ve heard, and what I was able to get out of mother.” She replied. “You see, if you ARE Trigger Doom, then I’m your daughter.”
    “What?” Trigger was astonished. “Who…”
    “A chorus girl, around twenty-two years ago.”
    “There were a lot of chorus girls…” Trigger replied.
    “This one got pregnant.” Painted Lady’s voice remained steady. “When mother found out that she was in trouble, she knew that she couldn’t have a life with you. She went back to my grandfather’s house, and he arranged for her to marry one of his business associates. He was wealthy but elderly, and Mother provided him with… companionship in his declining years.
    “Then, when he died, we inherited his fortune.” Painted Lady concluded. “I’ve done quite well for myself, in fact. I own a successful nightclub here in town, as well as several hair salons and wig stores.”
    “That’s impressive.” Trigger replied. “So what makes you so sure that I’m this Trigger Doom person?”
    “Oh, little things I’ve heard here and there.” Painted Lady settled herself on the edge of Trigger’s desk. “Mother always said that you were ruthless, and destined for great things. Handsome, charming, with an eye for the ladies, but prone to… Panic, let’s say?”
    “If this is flattery, I’ve heard better.” Trigger responded.
    “So take off that silly mask and let me know who I’m dealing with.” Painted Lady entreated.
    Trigger laughed. “I have people who’ve been working for me for YEARS that haven’t seen my face. You really think I’m going to show YOU?”
    Painted Lady ran a finger under her bathing suit, exposing a patch of unpainted flesh on her breast. It was creamy and smooth. From under the fabric, she drew out a folded photograph. It was creased and worn, and the image had faded, but the faces of the man and woman were still visible. Trigger recognized himself, but not the woman.
    “That’s Mother, with Trigger Doom, at Club Gray the year before I was born.” Painted Lady explained.  Trigger looked from the picture, then to the woman in front of him. The resemblance was undeniable. He removed his mask.
    “I look different.” He said. “Hard labor. And more than a few scrapes since then.”
    “How awful for you.” Painted Lady’s voice held no sympathy as she tucked the photo back in its hiding place.
    “So what do you want from me? Money?” Trigger asked.
    “I told you, I’m doing all right, thank you.” Painted Lady said.
    “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not really the fatherly type, so if that’s what you're after-“
    Painted Lady cut him off with a sharp laugh. “Please! You really are full of yourself, aren’t you?”
    “Then what’s this all about?” Trigger suddenly felt impatient.
    “Like I said, I run a successful nightclub.” Painted Lady said. “Over the past few weeks, I’ve had a few bruisers come in looking for protection money. It’s annoying.”
    “I’ll make it stop.” Trigger said without hesitation.
    “No, you don’t get it.” Painted Lady huffed. “I want to stop it myself. I want to be able to tell these gorillas that I am Mr. Intro’s daughter, and they had better do what I say.”
    There was a glint in the young woman’s eye that pleased Trigger as she spoke. “Taking up the family business? After we just met?”
    “I have a few ideas for some new enterprises.” Painted Lady explained. “Having access to a vast criminal organization might be fun. Besides, some of these big muscle-bound brutes do have a certain animal charm. I’d like to see how they respond when they’re a little bit afraid of me.”
    Trigger chuckled. “All right then. Go ahead and tell those thugs that you’re my daughter. I’ll back your story.”
    “Because it’s the truth.”
    “Who cares?” Trigger asked, putting his mask back on.
    “Good point.” Painted Lady stood and went to leave. “I’ll call you if I need anything else.”
    “Before you go…” Trigger called after her. She stopped and turned, placing her hands on her hips. “Look, I don’t have any family, or even people that I’m close to.”
    “I see.”
    “So, maybe sometime you’d like to come over and have dinner? I’ve got a good chef. He’ll make whatever I tell him to.” Trigger hoped that his voice didn’t sound as plaintive as he thought it did.
    “All right. I can think of worse ways to spend an evening. I’ll call you.” Painted Lady went to go. As she put her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to him. “I’m assuming you’d like me to bring one of my girlfriends along?”
    “That would be nice.” Trigger confirmed.

-Epilogue-

    Spike sat alone in EJ’s bar. He had been out of the city for months once word got around that someone was killing any remnants of the old gangs. He had hidden at his sister’s place in Nebraska until her kids had gotten on his nerves so much that he couldn’t stand it anymore. He had returned to the city and was relieved to find that the killings had subsided. Now that Intro was gone, there was another power struggle going on in the upper levels of the Apparatus, and no one seemed to care about a small-time hood like him.
    Spike was nursing his beer when he noticed a figure standing over him. He looked up.
    “Yeah?” Spike said to the stranger, trying to fill his voice with menace.
    “Spike? Spike, it’s me.” The man said.
    “So what? Get lost. I don’t know you.” Spike replied.
    “Spike, it’s me! Emilio Mocco!” The man insisted. “You know! Ribs!”
    Recognition dawned on Spike and he stared slack-jawed at his old associate.
    “Ribs! Holy Hell, you look terrible!” Spike said. Ribs sat next to him.
    “Yeah, yeah, I know it.” Ribs took off his hat and set it on the table.
    “Where’ve you been? You disappeared right after Big Boy went up for the last time.” Spike asked.
    “The heat was on, so I went back east; took a job working on the docks. Union work, but I still broke my back for thirty years.” Ribs sighed. “Honest living, huh?”
    “Brother, tell me about it.” Spike said. “So what brings you back after all this time?”
    “I’ve been thinking about my reputation.” Ribs answered.
    “You? YOUR reputation?” Spike was incredulous.
    “That’s my point.” Ribs said. “I was always known as Big Boy’s flunkie, right? A no-account who never amounted to anything, then skipped town when the heat got too hot.”
    “Well, some people say that.” Spike admitted.
    “A lot of ‘em do. And they’re not wrong. But then I saw this.” Ribs slapped a newspaper on the table and pointed at the headline. “You seen this?”
    “Everybody’s seen it.” Spike scoffed. “That crazy cop Tracy vaporized Intro’s yacht with all hands on board. It was a massacre. No one can believe it.”
    “And no one got out alive, right?” A smile curled Ribs’ lip. Spike looked confused.
    “What are you getting at, Ribs?”
    “No one ever knew what Mr. Intro looked like, right?” Ribs said. “Or what his real name was? So he could have been anyone.”
    “So what?” Spike asked.
    “So, maybe some rumors get started.” Ribs’ voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “Maybe you heard that Mr. Intro was really Ribs Mocco, come back to town to take control of the rackets.”
    “They don’t call ‘em ‘the rackets’ no more.” Spike explained.
    “I don’t care what they call ‘em!” Ribs insisted. “I’m just saying maybe you start spreading the word around that Ribs Mocco wasn’t the sad sack that everybody thinks he was. Maybe Ribs Mocco was a big shot, with a yacht and a lot or pretty girls around, who finally went out shooting against Dick Tracy.”
    Spike took a long, appraising look at the old criminal sitting in front of him. Ribs looked tired.
    “Yeah. Yeah, Ribs. Maybe you were.”

End

Custom Action Figure - 3.75" The Blank

Here's another of my 3.75" scale custom Tracy figures. This time it's the Blank.

It's much more comics-inspired than movie-inspired, though the movie design was pretty loyal to the original look in the comics.

The head and hands are from an Indiana Jones figure, the body is DC Infinite Heroes Commissioner Gordon, and the scarf is from Gandalf.

I suppose I could do it differently, using the head from Tracy (or Itchy) so it would still have the slightly over-sized noggin. I might consider doing that at some point. But I'm happy with it for now.

Consequences and Repercussions

    Special Agent Fritz Ann Dietrich of the Federal Bureau of Investigation sat at her desk, sipping coffee and scrolling through e-mails. She had been at work since early that morning. Fritz Ann liked arriving at the office early, as it allowed her to organize her daily tasks without distraction, and because it enabled her to keep track of what other agents might happen to arrive late.
    Fritz Ann was deleting some older messages when her inter-office phone line buzzed.
    “Agent Dietrich, I’d like to see you in my office, please”. The voice of Chief Investigator Jim Trailer came through the speaker.
    “Yes sir, I’ll be right there”. Fritz Ann responded.
    Jim Trailer had been promoted from his position at the Bureau’s main branch in Washington and made head of the Midwest/Great Lakes Region Branch Office where Fritz Ann was assigned. Some Agents would have been bothered by such a move, preferring to work in a major city like New York or Boston, or on the coasts, but Fritz Ann suspected that Chief Inspector Trailer relished his assignment. He seemed to take pride in the opportunity to protect the country’s heartland from crime and violence.
    Fritz Ann gathered up some files that were relevant to her current investigation and made her way to the Chief Inspector’s office. She knocked and entered. Trailer was seated at his desk.  Standing next to him was a tall, slender blonde woman. Fritz Ann had noticed them arriving together earlier in the day, and she did not recognize the woman. The stranger had a severe look on her face, which made Fritz Ann wary.
    “Have a seat, Agent Dietrich.” Inspector Trailer instructed.
    Fritz Ann sat in a chair in front of the desk and leaned forward.
    “I have some promising leads on the Blackjack case, sir. I’ve received some e-mails from witnesses claiming to have seen him in the Madison/Milwaukee corridor. Some of them are cranks, surely, but several of them seem credible, and with some follow-up I-“
    “Yes, thank you, Agent.” Trailer cut Fritz Ann off. His abruptness surprised her. In their time working together, Fritz Ann had always found Chief Inspector Trailer to be a patient man, giving his Agents time to gather evidence and build their cases. She took notice of the air of unease that seemed to fill the room.
    “Agent Dietrich, this is Agent Kelley from the main branch in Washington.” Trailer indicated the woman at his side.
    “Agent Kelley.” Fritz Ann greeted her. Kelley nodded.
    “Agent Kelley has also had some experience working with Dick Tracy and his unit. Several high-profile cases, in fact.” Trailer explained.
    “They’re a fine group of officers.” Fritz Ann was maintaining a diplomatic tone.
    “I agree,” said Agent Kelley. It was the first time she had spoken. Her voice revealed no emotion.
    “Before we continue, I want to make a few things clear,” Inspector Trailer began. “Agent Kelley is visiting the area on her own time. She’s taken vacation days from her job at the Bureau, and she has made her own arrangements for travel and accommodations. Is that right, Agent Kelley?”
    “I have a sister in Grosse Pointe that I’m planning to visit.” Agent Kelley replied.
    “And her visit here is on a personal matter, to see me specifically.” Trailer went on. “Agent Kelley is NOT here in an official capacity, and no part of this meeting has been officially logged in Bureau records.”
    Fritz Ann was alarmed. In all the time she had known Chief Inspector Trailer, she had never seen him this dour. All his talk about this meeting being off-the-record made her even more nervous.
    “I see,” was all that Fritz Ann said.
    “Last week, I received this letter.” Agent Kelley produced a sheet of paper with an envelope clipped to it from a folder she held at her side. “You’ll note the return address on the envelope. That’s my personal residence. This letter was not sent to my office at the Bureau, and it has not been recorded among my official correspondence.”
    “I don’t understand what all this is about.” Fritz Ann finally said.
    “The letter is from Officer Lizz Worthington-Grove.” Trailer explained. “I think you should read it.”
    Kelley handed the letter to Trailer, who handed it to Fritz Ann. Fritz Ann read it. It was neatly typed and worded very carefully. When she finished, Fritz Ann tossed the letter dismissively onto Trailer’s desk.
    “This is outrageous.” Fritz Ann announced. Trailer and Kelley exchanged a look.
    “So, then, you take issue with Detective Worthington-Grove’s account of the events?” Trailer asked.
    “Yes, I absolutely take issue with it.” Fritz Ann was trying to maintain a level tone, though her blood was rushing.
    “Let’s be clear, then.” Trailer said. “Is it your position that the events that Detective Worthington-Grove describes here did NOT take place?”
    “Well, no, that’s not the issue.” Fritz Ann explained. “I mean, if we’re speaking strictly in terms of what did and did not happen, then yes, she’s basically correct. But she’s seriously mis-representing the situation.”
    “I see.” Chief Inspector Trailer gathered up the letter and handed it back to Kelley. “So you admit that you grabbed Detective Sam Catchem and kissed him on the mouth.”
    “’Admit it’?” Fritz Ann was indignant. “With all due respect, Chief Inspector, I don’t think that that’s the appropriate…Phrasing here.”
    “How would you describe the situation, then?” Trailer leaned back in his chair as Fritz Ann edged forward.
    “It was a playful kiss!” Fritz Ann couldn’t keep the tension from her voice. “We had just caught Blackjack for the first time. We were celebrating! It was like that picture with the sailor from the end of World War Two, you know?”
    “Hmm.” Trailer was non-committal.
    “I’ll remind you, Agent Dietrich, that I received this letter at my personal residence.” Kelley broke her silence. “Apparently Detective Worthington-Grove considered the matter to be significant enough that she wanted someone at the Bureau to be made aware, but not in a way that might damage your career.”
    “Well, thank goodness for small favors.” Fritz Ann’s said sardonically.
    “You do know, Agent Dietrich,” Trailer began, “That Detective Catchem is a married man?”
    “Yes, of course I know that.”
    “And, by all accounts, happily married? With children?” Trailer kept his voice even.
    “Yes, he’s got a wife and two daughters. They’re all wonderful people. I know that nothing is going to happen between Sam and me. That’s why we can flirt like we do!” In spite of herself, Fritz Ann began to sound desperate. She wanted Trailer and Kelley to understand, but for some reason they couldn’t. Or they refused to.
    “So, Detective Catchem flirts with you, is that correct?” Kelley asked.
    “No, no.” Fritz Ann rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “I flirt with him, and he acts all embarrassed. It’s the nature of our relationship, and it’s cute. It’s all perfectly harmless. Sam enjoys it!”
    “He’s told you that?” Trailer asked.
    “He doesn’t have to!” Fritz Ann protested. “Has HE lodged a complaint?”
    “Detective Catchem isn’t the kind to make a complaint like this.” Trailer observed.
    “Of course not! Because there’s not an issue!” Fritz Ann was gathering momentum. “I don’t know what Detective Worthington-Grove’s problem is, but for some reason she’s decided to meddle in a matter that does not concern her. And frankly, Chief Inspector, I resent being called to the carpet by this stranger-“ she indicated to Agent Kelley, “-Who also has no first-hand knowledge of the situation. I don’t what your agenda is, or Lizz’s, or what’s going on.”
    “All right, Agent, let’s keep a cool head.” Trailer attempted to calm Fritz Ann.
    “I’m perfectly cool, sir.” Fritz Ann replied, with an edge in her voice. “I’m not some flighty, emotional… I don’t know, eccentric who’s given to irrational behavior!”
    A thought occurred to Fritz Ann, and before she could consider the ramifications, she spoke.
    “Is this because I’m a woman?” she asked, rhetorically. “Does Detective Worthington-Grove have some vendetta against me because she can’t stand to see a woman in a higher position of authority? Or you, Agent Kelley? Would you pull all this behind-the-scenes, cloak-and-dagger, off-the-record nonsense if I was a man? Would-“
    “If you were a man, you’d have been arrested!” Agent Kelley burst out. “If a man had grabbed a female co-worker like that and kissed her, he would have been cuffed and charged with sexual assault! At the very least – THE VERY LEAST – he would have been fired. On. The. Spot!”
    Agent Kelley punctuated her words by tapping the desk with her index finger. She continued. “I don’t know you, Agent Dietrich, and I don’t know who you think you are, but I know Lizz Worthington-Grove and I know that she doesn’t have a bitter or resentful thought in her head. And when you pull stunts like this and then try to claim gender discrimination, you make it harder for ALL of us, do you understand me?”  
    An awkward silence filled the room. Agent Kelley replaced a stand of her hair that had come loose. Fritz Ann stiffened in her seat.
    “I understand your position, Agent Kelley.” Fritz Ann finally said.
    Chief Inspector Trailer spoke. “Agent Dietrich, I think you’re an asset to the Bureau. I think you have a long and important career ahead of you. And I would hate to see it get derailed by a matter like this.”
    “Yes, sir.” Fritz Ann’s voice was flat.
    “I’m going to place you on administrative leave.” Trailer said. “Three months, paid. Effective today. During that time, I would like you to seek counseling. A licensed therapist, but not someone affiliated with the Bureau. If you can’t find one on your own, I can recommend someone. I’ve been seeing a counselor myself for some time about work-related issues, and I’m sure she can refer you to someone equally capable.”
    “Sir.” Fritz Ann still betrayed no emotion.
    “At the end of the three months, if your therapist can make a report of progress, then you’ll be reinstated with no loss in rank or standing. In the meantime, your caseload will be re-assigned.”
    Fritz Ann looked at Agent Kelley, but did not speak.
    “Someone local. From this branch.” Trailer volunteered.
    “I understand, sir.” Fritz Ann breathed heavily. “Will there be anything else, Chief Inspector?”
    “No. We’ll need access to your computer, so if you can write down any relevant passwords and such before you leave, please.”
    “Yes, sir.” Fritz Ann stood. “Agent.” She nodded at Agent Kelley.
    “Agent.” Kelley nodded back. Fritz Ann turned and left the office.
    “I’d rather face down the entire Famon family than go through that again.” Trailer said after the door was closed.
    “I’m sorry about the outburst, Chief Inspector. It was unprofessional.” Agent Kelley said. “I hope no one outside the office heard.”
    “Hmm.” Trailer remained non-committal. “I meant what I said, you know. Agent Dietrich is a top-notch law enforcement officer. She’ll probably have my job someday.”
    “I can believe that, sir.” Agent Kelley remained rigid. “She’s certainly passionate.”
    “She is that.” Agent Trailer picked up his mug and took a sip of tea. It had gone cold. “Are you really going to visit your sister?”
    “For a little while.” Kelley replied. “We don’t actually get along very well. But I have some friends in the area I’d like to see. And some contacts I should touch base with.”
    “Hmm, good.”  Trailer set down his mug. “People forget, it’s the relationships that really make this job work.”

Custom Action Figure - 3.75" Flattop

Here's another one of my custom action figures, again in 3.75" scale. This time it's Flattop Jones.

The head is from the figurine released for the 1990 movie. The rest is mix of parts from a lot of different lines.

The tommy gun came with a Marvel Universe Bucky figure. In fact, Bucky came with 2 of them, so there are plenty to go around.

As with Tracy, the heads are SLIGHTLY out of scale, but, eh...

Old Wounds

It was late in the afternoon at the Tracy Agency.  Tess Tracy was at her desk, reviewing some photographs from a recent surveillance job.  Her partner, Johnny Adonis, was in the records room, helping their new assistant organize the agency’s case files. Johnny entered the front office that he and Tess shared.

“Hey, Tess, we got any more staples?” Johnny asked.

“They should be in the supply cupboard.” Tess answered without looking up. Johnny walked to the cabinet set into the office’s far wall and braced himself. To his surprise, only a packet of notepads came tumbling out when his opened the door. Still, the disorganized cabinet was difficult to navigate.

“Once we get done in the back room, this is our next project.” Johnny announced.

“Plus, you know… Cases.”  Tess smirked.

“Well, right. Obviously.”  Johnny began digging the cabinet. “I don’t know how we lasted so long when it was just you and me.”

“Patience, mostly.” Tess replied, diplomatically.

 “Yeah, I guess.” Johnny looked at the clock. “I know it’s only four, but I was thinking of cutting out early. You mind?”

“No, I suppose not.” Tess looked away from her computer. “Big plans for tonight?”

“There’s a new installation opening at a gallery downtown and I managed to wrangle an invitation.” Johnny turned and grinned at his partner. “I want to make sure I look my best.”

Tess steeled herself, summoning the nerve to raise a topic she had been meaning to bring up for some time.  “You know, Johnny, ever since Bonnie moved back home, she’s had a hard time meeting new people.  Do you think maybe you might like to take her out sometime? Show her the fun places around town?”

“Yeah, okay. Could be fun.” Johnny was non-committal. “Bonnie’s a nice girl.”

Tess pressed on. “Yes. And you know that things are over between her and Officer Sampson back in Washington, so, if you two really hit it off…”

Johnny looked at Tess, puzzled. “What?”

“You know. I think the two of you would be good together.”

Johnny chuckled with surprise. “What, seriously?” Tess nodded. “Tess, I… I mean…”

“You’re not worried about Dick, are you?” Tess said. “Johnny, I’m sure he would approve. He thinks the world of you.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s…” Johnny turned and looked at his partner. “Tess, I’m gay.”

Tess’ eyebrows raised. “What? For how long?”

“For the foreseeable future, at least.” Johnny grinned, trying to relieve the tension that had filled the room.

“No, I mean, how long have you been… That way.” Tess was clearly uncomfortable with the subject.

“For as long as you’ve known me.”  Johnny walked over to her desk and sat on the edge. “Really, I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“It never occurred to me.” Tess said, astonished. “Does Dick know?”

“Well, he’s the world’s greatest detective, so I should hope so.”

“He never said anything…” Tess wracked her brain, trying to think of any reference Dick might have made to Johnny’s personal life.

“I can’t think why he would. I mean, there’s no reason why my love life should come up at your house.”

“No, of course not, I just… I’m surprised.” Tess exhaled. “And I guess I feel foolish for not knowing.”

“It’s not a big deal. I just hope you didn’t get Bonnie’s hopes up or anything.”

“No, no, I hadn’t talked to her about it. For all I know, she already knew. I think young people must have a better sense of these things nowadays.” Tess rested her head in her hand. “So much for my powers of observation, right? All this time and I had no idea.”

“Relax. It’s fine.” Johnny comforted his partner. “I can still take her around sometime if she wants. Introduce her to some nice people, maybe.”

“I’m sure she’d like that. Let me give you her cell number. And I have her e-mail…”

Tess began writing down Bonnie’s contact information when there was a knock at the office door. Johnny stood and opened it. An older woman was standing there, clutching her handbag in front of her. She looked tired.

“Hello, can we help you?” Johnny asked.

“I want the detectives.” The woman answered. “I need someone found.”

“This is the Tracy Agency, we’re private detectives.” Tess stood and gestured to an empty chair by her desk. “Why don’t you sit down, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” The woman made her way to the seat and rested heavily.

“Now, is this a missing person case?” Johnny asked. “Because that would be a police matter, of course.”

“No, it’s not that. I want someone found, and they don’t want to be. That’s why I’m here.” The woman looked back and forth between Tess and Johnny. “You can do that, can’t you?”

“Why don’t you tell us the whole story, ma’am?” Tess poured the woman a glass of water while Johnny grabbed a pad and pen to take notes.

“All right. My name is Agnes Yonem. Several years ago, my husband Charley got involved with a hoodlum named Little Face Finny.”

Tess and Johnny looked at each other. Mrs. Yonem went on. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him. His real name is Leonard. Sometimes he spells his last name with an ‘E’ in it, if that helps, but usually it’s just F-I-N-N-Y. My husband found him while he was hiding from the police, and this Finny person got him arrested as an accessory. Charlie served 10 years in a state prison.”

“Yes, we’re familiar with the case.” Tess offered.

“My husband was a good man, you understand. He just made a mistake. Saw an opportunity to improve our lives, and it ruined him. After he got out, he couldn’t get work. Prison changed him. He was distant, lifeless. Two years after he got out, he had a stroke and died in our living room. I was out working and found him when I came home. He had been all alone…"

Tess offered the woman a tissue, but she waved it away. “I’m not crying. I’m done crying. Charlie’s gone, and I’m trying to get on with my life.

“But this Little Face person, that’s a different story. I was furious when he was paroled. It was only just recently. He should have rotted in jail for the rest of his life, but they let him out. Said he was reformed. That’s crazy! The man’s a monster and he deserves to be behind bars.”

“Mrs. Yonem-“

“That’s why I’m here.” Agnes cut Johnny off. “After his release, he disappeared. No new address, no public record of his whereabouts. He’s supposed to check in with a parole officer, but even those records are being kept secret for some reason. I’m not good with computers, and I thought that with your connections to the police department, you could find him. Make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“That’s admirable…” Tess’s voice was low, waiting to see how worked up the woman would get.

“I don’t have much money, but I’ll pay what I can. You have to find him, do you understand? He’s a menace, and he’s out on the streets doing God-knows-what…”

“Yes, Mrs. Yonem, my partner and I understand that this is very important to you. I think we can help.” Johnny stood and walked back to the records room. “Sheldon, could you come out here, please?”  

Johnny waited while the new office assistant emerged into the front room. He was a tall man with a slim build and wavy blond hair that he wore swept back.  His face was uncommonly small. Mrs. Yonem gasped and jumped to her feet.

“You! What are you doing here!  Have you been following me?” Mrs. Yonem stepped toward ‘Sheldon’, but Tess held out a hand. “What is going on?” Mrs. Yonem demanded.

“Mrs. Yonem, this is our office’s assistant. He goes by the name Sheldon Pettit, but you knew him as Little Face.”

“Hello, Agnes.” Little Face’s features remained neutral. “How’s Charley?”

“He’s dead, you animal.” Agnes spat. “It should have been you.”

Little Face sighed. Agnes turned to Tess.

“This is how you run a detective agency? With a convicted felon? A thief and a killer?” she demanded.

“It’s a long story, Mrs. Yonem.” Tess tried to calm the older woman. “You see, shortly after his release, Leonard helped the police by providing some information that led to the dismantling of a major criminal organization here in the city.  But, by doing that, he made some very dangerous enemies. People who want him dead.”

“So, rather than go into protective custody, a deal was made to keep Leonard here in the city,” Johnny offered. “Where we could keep an eye on him.”

“Besides, even in a new city, I would tend to stand out in a crowd.” Leonard raised his eyebrows, hoping to lighten the mood. Mrs. Yonem scowled at him.

“So that’s justice, is it? He ruins my husband’s life, and now he gets to walk free, protected by the authorities? That’s outrageous.”

“I’m not exactly walking free, Agnes.” Little Face proclaimed. “I live here in the office. There’s a back room with a kitchenette and a cot that I sleep on. There’s a TV and wi-fi, but I can’t go outside because I might get recognized. I help here at the agency to compensate for the room and board, but that’s pretty much all that my life is.”

“He’s been very helpful, Mrs. Yonem,” said Tess. “With his knowledge of the criminal underworld, and his expertise with precious gems, he’s an extremely valuable resource.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? ‘Cause it doesn’t.” Mrs. Yonem glared at Leonard.

“Look, Agnes, I hope you’ll understand. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. I’m trying to do whatever I can to make up for it. I know that doesn’t make you feel any better, but maybe this will.”

Leonard took Johnny’s pad and turned the page. He wrote a name and address on it, tore the page off and handed it to Agnes.

“That’s a woman named Dolores Mullaney.  Her husband was a police officer. I killed him.”

Tess gasped and covered her mouth.

“I don’t talk about it much, Mrs. Tracy.” Leonard continued. “I was making a getaway from the police. I grabbed Officer Mullaney’s gun and used it to kidnap a woman and hijack a taxi cab. I shot Mullaney as I was escaping. Later that same day, I killed the cab driver.”

Johnny put his hand on Leonard’ shoulder. “Leonard…”

“I don’t pretend to be anything that I’m not, Agnes.” Little Face’s voice was steady, though his hands were trembling slightly. “You say I’m a killer, that’s true. The state says I’ve reformed, and maybe I have, but I know that doesn’t do you any good. If there’s any other person in the world who will understand how you feel about me, it’s Dolores Mullaney. Maybe you two can help each other.”

Agnes Yonem narrowed her eyes and put the piece of paper in her bag. “I’ll be going now.” She turned away.

“Mrs. Yonem-“ Tess stopped her. “You need to understand, Leonard’s life is still very much in danger.  There are people out there who wouldn’t think twice about killing him, and wouldn’t care who they had to go through to get to him.  They’d probably pay well to know his whereabouts.”

“I’m not getting mixed up with any more killers and hoodlums, Mrs. Tracy.” Agnes took another look at Little Face. “I hope he spends the rest of his miserable life in this office.”

With that, Agnes Yonem left. Silence hung in the room for a moment.

“You want some water, buddy? Maybe I can go grab you a sandwich or something?” Johnny offered.

“No, I’m fine, thank you Johnny.” Leonard took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I’m still chipping away at those old files. One of these days I want to hear your version of what happened with the ‘Ghost of Itchy’. I met Twitchy Oliver in the pen, so I only know his side of things.”

“Sure, pal, any time.” Johnny clapped him on the back. Tess remained quiet as Little Face retreated back into the records room. After a moment, Johnny noticed the awkward silence. “Tess?”

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” Tess shook her head, as if dislodging an unpleasant thought. “I forget sometimes. The things Leonard did…”

“People can change, Tess.” Johnny assured her. “In his case, it’s mostly because of how Dick treated him.”

“I know, I know.” Tess was still composing herself. “I’ve met Delores Mullaney, you know. And I can’t help thinking about how it could have been Dick. There were so many times that it could have been Dick, and I don’t know what I would do. What I would think of the person that did it, if I could even go on…”

“Hopefully, we’ll never have to find out.” Johnny grabbed his coat, then picked up Tess’ as well. “Come on, let me drive you home. Maybe Bonnie’ll want to go to this gallery show with me tonight.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that. I’ll fix you some dinner when we get to the house.”

Johnny flashed her a toothy smile, then went to the door to the back room. “Leon- I mean, Sheldon! We’re about to take off. You need anything?”

“No!” the unseen man responded. “Make sure to lock up!”

“Will do!” Johnny replied. He tugged on his coat and turned to Tess. “Hey, did I tell you that Leonard measured the size of our back room?”

“No. Why would he do that?” Tess asked as they walked out.

“Just curious. Turns out that the room he’s living in now is smaller than his jail cell was.” Johnny’s smile had a somber edge to it. “Maybe mention that to the landlord sometime, huh?”

END

Custom Action Figure - Playmates Itchy

I don't have a HUGE problem with the version of Itchy that Playmates produced for the 1990 Dick Tracy movie line. It's a decent likeness, if a bit cartoon-y. I do wonder about the various scratches/cuts in his clothes, as they would seem to indicate that he had been attacked by an animal at some point.

What DOES bother me is the one broken suspender. If it was broken like that, the longer part would not stay draped over his shoulder like that for very long. It basically represents Itchy as frozen in a specific moment in time.

I made a version of Itchy that represents his more formal appearance. It's an Itchy head on a Mumbles body. I kept the same color scheme, which I think works pretty well.

The machine gun accessory is from Flattop.

A Face in the Crowd

BEFORE DICK TRACY

The bar had no sign on the door to indicate its name. Some of the more romantic members of the city’s criminal element had therefore taken to calling it "The Bar with No Name". Most people just called it "Joe’s", after the round-faced bartender. No one was sure if Joe was actually the owner of the place, and he was typically cagey when asked about it.

“You want to drink or you want to ask a bunch of dumb questions?” was his usual response.

The bar’s existence was widely known in the underworld, and its rules were held to very strictly - No Fighting, No Credit, and No Real Names. Dr. Beau Tox wedged himself onto a stool at the bar next to a slim man with dark hair and promptly broke Rule Number Three.

“Will Carver! Fancy seeing you in a place like this!” Tox said with a wide grin.

Carver turned his head slightly and eyed the newcomer with disdain.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Carver said. “How do you know who I am?”

“Really? You don’t recognize me?” Tox seemed slightly hurt, but recovered his smile. “I’m Dr. Beauregard Tox. We met at that cosmetic surgeons’ convention in Beverly Hills last year. I told you about my new practice here in the city, and you wished me good luck.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Carver said bluntly.

“Oh. Well. Regardless, here we both are.”

“Why ARE you here, anyway?” Carver asked.

“Just trying to make a few connections.” Tox signaled to Joe. “Barman! Another of whatever the good doctor here is having. And I’ll have… Let’s see… Do you have any white wines?”

“I got beer and liquor, mac.” Joe said as he set down a glass of dark liquid in front of Carver.

“Of course. Just a beer then, please. You pick. Cost is no object.” Tox smiled, but Joe did not reciprocate.

“Your practice must be doing well.” Carver said, slightly ruefully.

“It’s a bunch of old women getting chin tucks and liposuction, mostly.” Tox sighed. “Nothing exciting. Occasionally I’ll get an aspiring actress seeking to increase her, um, visual appeal. Or some young trophy wife trying to maintain her husband’s interest. But those are few and far between.”

“Well, here’s to the wealthy and boring.” Carver down his drink in one gulp and grimaced.

“That’s actually why I followed you here, Carver.” Tox leaned in conspiratorially.

“You did what?” Carver’s voice was harsh.

“From your office. I’d heard that you rarely go straight home, so I followed you, hoping to get a word with you.”

“You could have made an appointment, for crying out loud.” Carver complained.

Tox’s eyes narrowed. “Well, you see, I didn’t want anyone to know that we’d spoken…”

Tox stiffened on his stool as Joe set down a foamy beer in front of him. Tox set some bills on the bar. “Keep it!” he said.

“Calm down, will you?” Carver scolded. “You’re attracting attention.”

“Right. Sorry.” Tox leaned on one elbow, trying to look casual. “You see, I’d heard rumors that you had some connections to the criminal element here in the city. Now, seeing you here, I get the impression that those rumors have something behind them.”

“Maybe. Maybe I just like to drink away from prying eyes.” Carver kept his face forward.

“Fair enough.” Tox took a sip of his beer. “The thing is, I have a problem. And I don’t think it can be solved by conventional means. My receptionist and I, we’ve been… Seeing each other after work.”

“Uh-huh.” Carver fiddled with the wedding band on his finger.

“It’s nothing serious, of course. Just a bit of fun. I never intended it to go very far.” Tox’s voice became hushed. “But, she wasn’t careful like I told her to be. And now she’s in trouble.”

Carver remained quiet.

“The problem is that she refuses to be reasonable. I told her that I would pay to take of things. I’d even set her up in another city so she could put all this behind her. But she won’t. She says she’s old-fashioned.” Tox’s voice had become strained. Carver chuckled.

“Yeah, she sounds like a real old-fashioned girl.” Carver said with a sardonic edge in his voice.

“The thing that I don’t want is a scandal. Or, frankly, the responsibility.” Tox took another sip. “So, I need to find someone who can take care of a situation like this for me.”

“You got some nerve, pal.” Carver said. “You follow me, ambush me at my favorite watering hole, and now you ask me to put you in touch with a torpedo? Like we’re old pals or something?”

“Torp-? Oh, I get it.” Tox’s smile returned. “See, that’s what I want, William. I want to know who the torpedoes are around town. Or the… what do you call them – Second-Story Men. The grifters and the con artists and the like.”

“A grifter and a con artist are the same thing,” explained Carver.

“OK, good. Thank you. All I want is for you to help me with some connections. After all, we might be professional rivals, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“If you want to be my friend, then get my name right.” Carver said. “It’s Willis, not William.”

“Oh.” Tox looked perturbed. “At the convention, your name tag-“

“Said what I wanted it to.” Carver wheeled around on his stool and looked Tox in his wide face. “Here’s the thing, Tox. I don’t know you, and based on what I do know, I don’t like you.”

Tox’s face fell.

“But, your timing is good.” Carver went on. “I’m trying to distance myself from these… Types. They’re a bunch of psychos and freaks. After the Haf-And-Haf job, I don’t need the exposure any more. As it happens, I’ve just been contacted by the state to do another reconstruction job on a convicted felon. I turned them down, but if you like, I’ll put them in touch with you. If you want to go to work on the guy and then pump him for information, that’s your own business.”

Tox beamed. “That’s all I need! Thank you, that sounds just right!”

“Yeah, great.” Carver sighed. “Here’s the big question- How are you with ears?”

***

                Tox entered the diner and sat at the counter next to the man in the grey coveralls. The man turned and raised an eyebrow.

                “You want something, bud?” He asked.

                “Is that your truck parked out front?” Tox asked.

                “It’s the company’s truck, but yeah. What about it?” A hint of menace entered the working man’s voice.

                “I just want to make sure I’m talking to the correct person. You’re Mr. Weeks, aren’t you? Lincoln Weeks?”

                Weeks’ eyes narrowed. “Yeah…”

                “And I understand that some people know you as ‘Linky’.” Tox kept his voice even.

                “What’s this all about?” Weeks asked, getting agitated.

                “Nothing. Relax. Calm down.” Tox smiled at him. “I’m a friend of a friend, and I’d like to help you.”

                Tox’s discerning eye looked over Weeks’ features. He clucked his tongue.

                “My word, that’s a face that’s seen a lot of action, isn’t it?” Tox said.

                “You come in here just to insult me, jerk?” Demanded Weeks.

                “Not at all. Quite the contrary.” Tox picked up a laminated menu and looked over the lunch specials. A waitress approached.

                “You ready, hon?” She asked.

                “Yes, thank you. I’ll have the steak and eggs, medium-rare please, and some orange juice.” He turned to Weeks. “Would you like anything else? A slice of pie, perhaps?”

                “I got to get back to my route soon.” Weeks said.

                “I see. Just that, then.” Tox grinned at the waitress.  She left the two men alone.

                “Let me explain what I’m here about.” Tox leaned in conspiratorially. “A few weeks ago, I made the acquaintance of a Mr. Leonard Finny.”

                “LittleFace?” Weeks looked surprised. “I thought he was doing a long stretch.”

                “He is, but I volunteered to perform a procedure on him that replaced the ears that he had lost to frostbite.” Weeks looked confused. Tox continued. “That’s what I do. I’m a cosmetic surgeon.”

                “Oh.” Weeks seemed to understand. “You know a guy named Carver?”

                “In fact, I do. But, that’s not the point right now. You see, Little Face referred me to a man named Mussel, who referred me to you. He claims that you used to work for the Shoulders mob, and some of the other bosses in the city.”

                “For a while.” Weeks shrugged. “Small-time stuff. Nothing serious. I did my time, and now I put all that behind me. I got a legit job now. My parole officer set me up.”

                “Yes, that’s why I asked about the truck.” Tox swiveled on his stool and look out of the diner’s large front window. “You’re delivering mattresses, I see.”

                “It’s honest work.” Weeks explained. “And I sleep good at night.”

                Tox chuckled. Weeks’ eyes flared.

                “What’s so damned funny about that?” Weeks demanded.

                “It’s just… You sleep good at night.” Tox was still smiling. “And you deliver mattresses.”

                Weeks face did not show understanding.

                “It’s not important.” Tox turned back to face the counter. “But I have to wonder if you miss the excitement of your old life.”

                “I don’t.” Weeks paused. “Not really.”

                “Hmm.” Tox drummed his fingers idly on the counter-top. “Because, you see, there’s a reason I tracked you down, Mr. Weeks. I need a job done. It’s a dirty job, but I’m prepared to pay handsomely. And there are other benefits as well.”

                Tox paused as the waitress set a steaming plate of food down in front of him. He began to cut his meat.

                “I’m listening.” Weeks prompted.

                “You don’t have to get to your work?” Tox asked.

                “Maybe I’m not so worried about keeping my job.” Weeks explained. Tox smiled broadly and took a bite of steak. 

***

               

               Tox was roused by a pounding at his door. He pulled on his robe and made his way to the front room. He planned to open the door a crack, but as soon as he turned the handle, the door was flung wide. Tox stumbled back as Mussel entered.

                “All right, where is he?” Mussel demanded.

                Tox took a moment to regain his composure, then smiled. “Mr. Mussel! If I’d known you were coming I’d been better prepared.”

                “Cut the sweet talk, Tox.” Mussel grabbed the lapel of Tox’s robe and pulled him close. “Nobody’s seen Linky in a week and half, and you were the last guy what was asking after him. I’m bettin’ you know something, and I’m here to find out what’s what.” 

                “Yes, of course, calm down.” Tox tried to extract himself from the larger man’s grip, but without success. “Why don’t you have a seat? Can I pour you a drink?”

                Mussel eyed Tox suspiciously. “I’ll pour it myself.”

                “The bar’s right over there.” Tox gestured to a well-stocked bar in a room off the foyer. Mussel dragged him into the other room and threw the paunchy man into a soft chair. He then stalked over to the bar and began examining the bottles.

                “If you want ice, there’s a freezer in the cabinet.” Tox offered. Mussel snorted derisively, and poured a large quantity of straight bourbon into a glass. He then turned back to Tox.

                “So. Linky. What’s the story?” Mussel asked, then took a gulp.

                “I have to say, I’m surprised.” Tox was smoothing out his robe and making himself comfortable. “I didn’t realize that you knew where I live.”

                “I can find stuff out when I want to.” Mussel explained. “Linky.” He re-iterated.

                “Yes, I’ve been meaning to thank you for putting me in contact with Mr. Weeks.  He did some work for me and I’m most satisfied with the outcome.” Tox smiled. “Of course, I’ve had to find a new receptionist, but that’s exciting in its own way as well.”

                Mussel’s brow knit in confusion. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

                “Look, Linky anticipated that something like this might happen. So, he left a few letters for you and some of the old gang just to set your minds at ease. They’re over there in the desk drawer, actually.”

                Tox stood and approached his desk. He reached to open a drawer when Mussel’s heavy hand clasped his wrist.

                “Sit back down. I’ll find ‘em.” Mussel said. Tox did as he was told.

                The larger man opened the drawer and found a series of sealed envelopes, each with names written on them. He flipped though them until he found one made out to him. He tore it open.

                “I think you’ll recognize Linky’s handwriting…” Tox offered.

                Mussel read the letter carefully, looking over at Tox incredulously from time to time. He took another drink.

                “Is this for real?” Mussel asked. “Linky did a job for you, so you gave him a new face and a bunch of money and he skipped town?”

                “Absolutely.” Tox assured him. “He earned every penny.”

                Mussel sighed. “Well, how about that. I’m gonna miss that little cheat…”

                “I’m sure.” Tox stood and approached the bar. Mussel did not move to prevent him, so he poured himself a glass. “But, I want you to know that I’m grateful to you as well, Mussel. Linky got me out of a tight spot. And the whole situation has been quite exhilarating.”

                “Is that so?” Mussel’s face took on a less grim appearance.

                “Yes. And now, that we know we can trust each other, maybe we can continue our association.”

                “Like how?” Mussel asked.

                “I’m sure you know plenty of people who’d like their faces changed. And I’ve been thinking about various other - Well, I guess ‘capers’ would be the word for it – that I’d like to try.” Tox approached Mussel and clinked their glasses together. “Here’s to crime!”

                AFTER DICK TRACY

                The State Women’s Correctional  Facility was a large, featureless building surrounded by high fences topped with razor wire. There was no crowd at the Visitors’ Entrance, which made it easy for Tox to spot his target as the man emerged through the gate.

                “You there! Bates!” Tox called from inside his car.

                BroadwayBates looked over in the direction where he’d heard his name. He saw a late-model sedan with a man behind the wheel, waving at him. Bates approached the car cautiously.

                “Yes, what do you- Ye Gods!” Bates gasped when he saw the face of the man in the car. His eyes went wide, and his monocle fell.

                “Yes, yes. Get in, I’ve got the air conditioning on.” Tox urged.

                “Who are you?” Bates demanded, not moving to enter the vehicle.

                “I’m a friend. I jumped through a lot of hoops to find out when you’d be here, now get in. I don’t want anyone seeing us together.”

                “Why should I get in a car with you? I don’t even know you.” Bates scoffed.

                “I’ve got cold water and some hot sandwiches. Just ride with me out to the main road. I have a proposition for you.” Tox paused. “Unless you’d rather walk?”

                Broadway Bates thought for a moment, then straightened, screwed his monocle back into place and got into the back seat.

                “There. Happy?” Bates sneered. “Now who are you? What’s this all about?”

                Tox put the car in gear and started down the side road to the highway. Keeping one eye on the road, he looked at his passenger in the rear-view mirror with the other eye.

                “My name is Dr. Beau Tox. We have an enemy in common.” Tox explained.

                “Dick Tracy.” Bates deduced.

                “Indeed. I’ve recently suffered some serious reversals at Tracy’s hands, and I want to re-establish myself in a new locale.”

                “I see. What’s this got to do with me?” Bates demanded.

                “I learned that you were planning to come and visit your young lady friend.” Said Tox. “You traveled quite a ways to be here.”

                “Yes, she still has a bit of time on her sentence.” Bates sighed. “It’s been hard on her, the poor girl.”

                “A murder charge can be so stressful, I know.” Tox offered. “So, how were you planning to get back to your brother’s city? Flying? Taking the train?”

                “I’ve had bad luck on trains.” Bates said. “And a flight is too expensive. I’ve been reduced to traveling by bus, if you must know.”

                “No shame in that.” Tox soothed. “But, if you’re willing, I’d be happy to drive you to your brother’s place. Like I said, I have food, and I think you’ll find my car is a fair bit more comfortable than a bus.”

                “I’ll grant you that.” Bates replied. “What’s the catch?”

                “I just want to talk.” Tox explained. “And perhaps when we get there, you’ll agree to introduce me to your brother?”

***

                Broadway Bates rapped his umbrella handle against the heavy steel door. A panel in the door slid open.

                “Open up, Bruno, it’s me!” Bates demanded.

                The sound of heavy locks being unbolted came through the door, and it swung open noisily. A thick, muscular man in a suit and bow tie blocked the entrance.

                “Who’s he?” The man asked, gesturing behind Bates.

                “A friend. Mind your own business.” Bates pushed Bruno aside and made his way in. Tox followed close after. He and Bruno eyed each other suspiciously.

                Bates led Dr. Tox down a hall past several doors. Tox could detect various scents as he passed – food, perfume, chemicals, bleach. Finally, they rounded a corner and Bates knocked on an ornate wooden door.

                “Oswald! It’s me! I need to see you!” No sound came through the door. Tox and Bates waited for a moment until it finally creaked open. Oswald, Bates’ brother, poked his long nose out.

                “You’re back early.” Oswald quacked. “I wasn’t expecting you for hours.”

                “Fortune smiled on me.” Bates explained. “I made a new friend, and he was good enough to transport me back to your protective custody. He wants to meet you.”

                Oswald made a noise that Tox couldn’t quite place. It seemed like a laugh, but with a derisive barking quality. It was also extremely nasal. It was at this point that Oswald took notice of Tox.

                “Hmph.” Oswald did not seem put off by Tox’s appearance, which surprised the doctor. “Interesting. Go get a drink and a change of clothes, I’ll have a word with your new friend here.”

                “As you say.” Bates said deferentially. He stood aside and let Tox enter Oswald’s office. He put his hand on Tox’s shoulder. “If I see you again, I think you’ll agree that I do NOT owe you any favors…”

                “No. Thanks.” Tox said. Bates inclined his head slightly and waddled off.

                “Shut the door!” Oswald demanded.

                Tox did as he was told, then took in his surroundings. The office was decorated tastefully, with antiques and a variety of stuffed birds. The chairs were leather, and the rug was ornate (probably Persian). There were no windows.

                Oswald settled himself down behind his desk before addressing Tox. “So, you made friends with my brother just so you could meet me, huh? I’m a bit flattered. Not much though. What’s your angle?”

                “Well, you see, I was fairly well-connected in Broadway’s city, but I’ve recently been… Uprooted, and I was seeking to re-establish myself somewhere new.” Tox explained.

                “And you came here?” Oswald scoffed. “Are you ugly AND stupid? Maybe you haven’t heard, but we have a very serious problem with a nocturnal vigilante around here.”

                “Yes, I’m aware.” Tox said. “But I understand that he has a certain aversion to firearms? Dick Tracy does not have any such compunction.”

                “So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard.” Oswald scowled at Tox. “Well, sit down, man. You make me nervous hovering there like a ghost.”

                “I’m sorry.” Tox made his way to a seat and leaned forward. “Anyway, I understand that there’s another criminal, like me, who left Tracy’s city and settled here. And he also has a similar… Let’s say modus operandi to one of YOUR co-horts.”

                Oswald thought for a moment. “Oh, you mean that Putty Puss fellow? Yes, Clayface was most perturbed when he started pulling jobs here. In fact, there’s a standing reward out on the bounder. Clayface only wants him alive, though, so I don’t envy the poor bas-“

                “No, not him!” Tox sounded desperate. “I meant Haf-and-Haf! All of the chatter I came across said that he’d come here, to your city, and was trading on the reputation of someone else.”

                Oswald seemed momentarily annoyed at being interrupted. He considered Tox’s words, then rubbed his chin.

                “Yes. Yes, I do know who you mean. He’s been keeping a lower profile, but I can see why you want to get in touch with him. Looking to join forces, perhaps? Comrades in arms because of the whole…” Oswald indicated to one side of his face. Tox scowled.

                “No, no not all. What I want to do is find Tulza Tuzon and kill him. Then I would be the new Haf-and-Haf, and I would leave your friend to his own devices.”

                “Hmm.” Oswald considered this.

                “I can pay for the information.” Tox reached into his coat and pulled out a significant bundle of bills. “Just tell me where to find Haf-and-Haf. I’ll take care of the rest myself.”

                Oswald’s eyebrows raised and a sneer came over his face. “You’re really not very good at this, are you?” He asked.

                Tox was nonplussed.

                “Why should I tell you anything?” Oswald went on. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you, take your money, and let the freaks settle their own matters?”

                Tox stood, but Oswald drew a gun on him.

                “I’ve killed three people and got away with it.” Tox blurted.

                “I’ve killed more and I’m sitting right here. So I’ll ask again,” Oswald said coolly. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

                Tox considered the question. He looked down.

                “Because…” He began. “Because you wouldn’t want to get blood on this lovely rug?”

                Oswald stared at him blankly for a moment. Then, abruptly, he burst out with his loud, quacking laugh.

                “By George, I like that.” Oswald set the gun down. “My goodness, you should see your face!” he said, between laughs. “Or, maybe you shouldn’t. You’re really quite hideous, old fellow.”

Oswald stood and made his way around the desk. He plucked the money from the stunned Tox’s hand. He fanned it, taking in the amount.

“Yes, this will do, I suppose.” Oswald said. “I’ll also want the keys to the vehicle you came here in.”

“It’s stolen.” Tox explained as he fished the keys from his pocket.

“Of course it is.” Oswald snatched the keys from Tox. “Still, good for parts and all. You can keep what’s in your wallet- Identification, library cards, the like. I know how difficult those things are to replace.”

Oswald scuttled back around his desk and wrote on a scrap of paper.

“Now then. This is an address,” he explained. “According to sources I trust, your man Tuzon can probably be found there. I haven’t told my friend about it because he hasn’t asked. I prefer not to involve myself in his affairs if I can avoid it.”

“I understand.” Tox took the paper and crammed it into a pocket.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have other matters that need my attention.” Oswald said, dismissively.

“Of course.” Tox turned to go,

“I hope you’ll understand,” Oswald called after him. “That while I appreciate you helping my brother, I do consider our brief association to be at an end.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Tox assured Oswald.

“Do you?” Oswald asked. “I don’t want there to be any confusion. I’m saying don’t come back here. Don’t contact Brooklyn or Broadway or Brownstone or whatever he’s calling himself. If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

“You won’t. I promise.” Tox waited to see if Oswald would speak again, then he turned to go.

“One other thing!” Oswald called after him. Tox turned back. “It wouldn’t hurt you to smile now and then, you know. Might make you easier to look at!”

Oswald laughed some more as Tox scowled and left. He shut the door behind him without being prompted.

“Poor dumb fool…” Oswald muttered. “Last thing we need around here is more of those types…” He picked up his telephone receiver and began dialing.

***

                It took Dr. Beau Tox some time to find the address in the unfamiliar city. When he did, he was surprised at the poor condition of the ramshackle building. The rumors he had heard led him to believe that the man he was seeking had been more successful, which Tox assumed would lead him to seek better accommodations.

                The lock on the main door was broken and Tox entered. He had a pistol, one of the few things on his person that Oswald hadn’t taken from him. He drew it and made his way up the stairs. Half of the overhead lights were burnt out or smashed.  The floor boards creaked under his weight, and several doors slammed shut as he went past.

                Tox reached the apartment number that matched the address Oswald had given him. To his surprise, the door was slightly ajar. No lights were on inside.

                This could be a trap. Tox thought. But, I came here for a reason. No turning back now…

                Tox pushed the door open slightly. He poked his face - the good side – through the opening far enough to get a look around. The room was too dark to see. Resigned, Tox opened the door and entered the room.

                A light came on. Seated in a recliner in front of the door was Tulza Tuzon, also known as Haf-and-Haf. Tuzon’s left hand held the chain from the table lamp he had just turned on. His right hand held an automatic pistol that was trained on Tox. Tox froze.

                “I hear you’ve been looking for me.” Tuzon said. His voice was cold and even.

                “Yes.” Tox took another step in, his gun in his hand at his side.

                “Well, you found me.” Tuzon seemed remarkably calm. “Is there a reward out for me back in the city?”

                “That’s not why I’m here.” Tox explained.

                Tuzon took a good look at the intruder. “No. You don’t seem like the bounty hunter type. So what do you want?”

                “I want to make a deal.” Tox explained. He held up his gun, holding the handle between his forefinger and thumb. “I’m not a threat to you, see? I have a plan.”

                “Yeah, what’s that?” Tuzon’s gun did not lower.

                “Look, you’ve been pulling jobs here posing as Two-Face, right?” Tox’s voice revealed his excitement. “That’s brilliant! No one’s looking for Tulza Tuzon, and anything you do will get blamed on him!”

                “It’s been working so far.” Tuzon acknowledged.

                “So, I want to get added into the mix!” Tox urged. “Nobody knows who I am! I could rob banks, pull extortion jobs, kidnappings, anything! And it’s just one more Two-Face running around, muddying the waters! No one would know who did what and we’d all reap the benefits.”

                “Hmm.” Tulza Tuzon’s eyes narrowed. “And, in exchange for my agreeing to all this, you’d give me a cut of whatever you make, right?”

                “Of course!” Tox agreed.

                “Until you decide to kill me.” Tuzon added.

                “What? No, I-“

                “Shut up.” Tuzon barked. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m Tulza Tuzon. Haf. And. Haf. I have a name and a reputation and I’m damned proud of it.”

                Tuzon stood.

                “The only reason I started pulling jobs in this town was to prove that I’m better at it than Two-Face.” Tuzon explained. “And I am. ‘Cause I haven’t been caught. When the time comes, I intend to get the FULL credit for everything I’ve done, and ONLY that. Got me?”

                Tuzon leveled his gun at Tox’s forehead.

                “There is only room for ONE Haf-and-Haf. In this city, in the world.”

                A shot rang out. Tox’s eyes went wide. He looked down at his chest and saw the spreading blood on his shirt. He barely managed to turn his head to look behind him before he crumpled to the ground.

                Standing in the doorway was a man wearing a two-toned suit. Half of his face was heavily scarred. In his left hand, he held a silver dollar. His right hand held a gun, which was smoking.

                “Funny,” the new arrival said, “I was thinking the same thing.”

END