The Plateau of the Black Hearts

The atmosphere was heavy inside EJ’s Bar. B-B Eyes, Mumbles, and Doubleup sat around a corner table which was quickly becoming their “regular” table. Whenever they arrived, other patrons knew to vacate the area.

An aspiring jazz musician was plunking out a mixed-tempo riff on the bar’s piano. B-B Eyes took a sip of his beer, then yelled at the man.

“Hey, ’88 Keyes’! Either pick a melody or leave that thing alone!” he barked.

The piano player settled into a minor key rendition of “Heart and Soul” as B-B Eyes turned back to his compatriots.

“You’re in a rotten mood. Rotten mood.” Doubleup observed.

 “I got a bad feeling,” B-B Eyes said. “Things are coming to a head back at the base. A lot of dissatisfied parties, and too many variables. Like this T-Bolt character who works for Bigg. I don’t know what to make of her.”

“Ilyker.” Mumbles said. “Shzgotspnk.”

“Maybe, but she’s unpredictable.” B-B Eyes responded. “And the old guard is getting restless, I can tell. Méliés is about to shake things up, and Venus and Apollo will go along with whatever he says. Which I don’t get, ‘cause Venus used to be HIS boss, right?”

“IlykthatVenuztu.” Mumbles leered slightly. “Shzgota nyzshayp…”

“You’re girl crazy. Girl crazy!” Doubleup insisted.

“M’elthy.” Mumbles dismissed him, taking a long drink.

“Anyway, we might need to consider skipping town.” B-B Eyes looked back and forth between his compatriots. “Maybe even split up for a while, you know? Either of you guys got a place to lay low?”

“I’ve got a connection. A connection.” Doubleup said, cagily.

“Good.” B-B Eyes looked back at Mumbles. “You?”

“Ikn taykarov mself.” Mumbles assured him.

B-B Eyes harrumphed, then looked up at the imposing figure who was standing behind Doubleup. The tall man had just arrived and had not spoken yet. “You want something, bud?”

“I do apologize for interrupting, gentlemen.” The tall figure leaned forward, putting his face in the light. His nose and chin were pointed, and his wavy black hair was thick and streaked with grey. “I hope you’ll allow me to join your little congregation.”

“We’re having a conversation. A conversation!” Doubleup replied.

“Yes, I think I can contribute to it most effectively. If I may?” Without waiting for permission, the tall man pulled out a chair and seated himself. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m known as Lofty. And unless I’m greatly mistaken, you three are the notorious villains B-B Eyes, Mumbles, and Doubleup.”

“Yeah, so you read the police blotter. What do you want?” B-B Eyes demanded.

“I’ve recently been released from a spell of incarceration.” Lofty explained. “I enjoyed a certain level of success in the stolen car business back in my salad days, and I’m seeking to re-acquaint myself with the criminal establishment in this fair locale.”

“Gytawkztumch.” Mumbles observed. “Zaz baddaz Blkjk.”

“Nobody’s as annoying as that guy. As THAT guy.” Doubleup chimed in.

“Hold on, fellas, let’s hear the man out.” B-B Eyes calmed his allies. “Hot cars, huh? That’s not a bad racket. I used to deal in tires myself.”

“Yes, and now you are affiliated with the infamous Black Hearts, are you not?” Lofty looked around as each man refused to comment. “I thought as much. My network of informants remains as reliable as ever. I'm extremely eager to associate myself with that organization.”

“From what I hear,” B-B Eyes began, “The Black Hearts don’t deal much in stolen cars. That stuff’s too small time. So what else you got?”

“I can assure you, I am a man of taste, discretion, and infinite inspiration.” Lofty placed his hand on his chest. “During my time away, I conceived a wide variety of nefarious enterprises, and now I merely require access to some minor resources to put them into effect. I’m certain they’ll be extremely lucrative for all affiliated parties.”

“Dunlykthssfop.” Mumbles muttered.

“You might be tall, but you look like a wimp to me! A wimp to ME!” Doubleup added.

“Gentlemen! Becalm yourselves!” Lofty urged. “I assure that I am a rogue of the highest order! In fact, my previous criminal organization included the nephews of Police Chief Pat Patton!”

The three other men did not look impressed.

“A pair of uncouth layabouts, to be sure.” Lofty continued. “But they were useful in their way. Additionally, when I was apprehended, I traded blows with Dick Tracy himself!”

“You took a swipe at Tracy?” B-B Eyes sounded more impressed than he had meant to.

“Well, I cuffed him soundly on the back of the head.” Lofty bragged. “I even knocked his ridiculous hat off.”

“Well, ain’t that impressive.” B-B Eyes pushed himself back from the table and walked deliberately over to Lofty. He put a hand on the tall man’s shoulder. Lofty kept his gaze on B-B Eyes, not noticing that Doubleup had also stood.

“Here’s what you gotta understand, 'Lofty'.” B-B Eyes leaned in close to the man’s face. “Guys like me and Mumbles and Doubleup here? We’re ‘rogues’ all right. And that’s because we KILL people. Got it?”

Lofty swallowed hard.

“In fact,” B-B Eyes continued. “Me and Mumbles have killed COPS. I shot a cop through the head, and left him trussed up in a stack of tires with a note for Dick Tracy pinned to his uniform, DARING him to catch me.”

With a sudden movement, Doubleup’s whip fell over Lofty’s head and wrapped tight around his neck. Lofty’s hands grasped at the whip, but he couldn’t loosen it. 

“Mumbles and I have even faked out own deaths to get out of being caught.” B-B Eyes explained.

“Twyz.” Mumbles corrected.

“Yeah, he did it twice.” B-B Eyes went on. “So when guys like you come in here and try to get chummy, acting like you operate on the same level as we do, it gets on our nerves, see?”

Lofty’s eyes were bugged out of their sockets as his face turned red, then purple, then blue. He gasped and struggled for a few more moments, then went limp. Doubleup maintained his hold on the man’s throat for a while longer, just to be thorough. B-B Eyes pulled back one of the frilled cuffs of Lofty’s shirt and checked his wrist for a pulse.

“That took a while.” B-B Eyes said. “I thought you’d just snap his neck.”

“The angle wasn’t right. Wasn’t right.” Doubleup explained dispassionately.

“Well, whatever.” B-B Eyes straightened. “Mumbles, you okay to drive? We’ll need to ditch this corpse somewhere.”

“M’fyn.” Mumbles assured him. “Nvrbin nabdfr dewey bfor.”

“Terrific.” B-B Eyes found himself smiling. “I gotta say, fellas, this kind of thing was just what I needed to put me in a good mood. I feel like I could take on Dick Tracy, the FBI, and the whole MCU.”

“Bring ‘em on.” Doubleup grinned. “On.”

END

Analysis - The Midnite Mirror

The current storyline in the Dick Tracy comic strip is called "The Midnite Mirror".

It SEEMS to take place in some kind of alternate reality where the bad guys are good and the good guys are bad. However, on the Dick Tracy Fan Club Facebook page, writer Mike Curtis has assured readers that that is NOT what is happening.

Regardless, the story has been remarkably slow-moving and repetitive, with lots of clunky exposition. I posted to the Fan Club page on Wednesday the 21st that everything that had happened in the storyline so far (9 daily strips and a Sunday) could have been covered in 3 daily strips.

Someone disagreed, so in response, I offer these crude alterations, with some re-purposed art and some new dialogue.

Since this, the major developments have been the confirmation that The Chalice is headquartered in the Tower Building (he either lives there or has elaborate offices there), and that another one of The Chalice's associates is The Brow (known in this world as "Al").

Also, the elevator operator in the Tower Building is named Jake. This got special attention.

There's a phenomenon in the world of comic books known as "decompressed storytelling". It results in more attention being given to character and personal interactions, with less focus on splash pages and big action scenes. Some readers complain that this makes comics boring ("It's 10 pages of Power Man just TALKING to Hawkeye!"), or that it artificially extends a storyline to fill more issues.

I think that Midnite Mirror is proving to be very decompressed. We were shown 3 days of a newspaper sales transaction, with a gratuitous "Flash" reference thrown in. All of this is happening while readers are deliberately not being told what is going on, what world this is, and why we're seeing it.

My personal interest in this story is limited to the new light that it tends to shed on what some of the characters' real names might be.

I'll admit, I'm also a bit interested to see what the Midnite Mirror version of Tess is like. She's probably just Texie Garcia (Tessie Garcia?).

Oh, one other thing! If everyone is their opposite in the Midnite Mirror world, then Blackjack must finally be interesting!

B.O. Plenty's Piece of the Rock

Prudence E. Senshul evaluated her face in her car’s rear view mirror.  Her make-up was immaculate, accentuating her prominent cheekbones. She applied another layer of gloss to her full lips and smacked them together to make sure it was even. She fluttered her eyelids a few times, checking that her mascara didn’t stick and her eye-shadow didn’t crease. She looked at herself with her steely blue eyes, then relaxed her features into her carefully rehearsed “warm” look.

She stepped out of her car and into the daylight. It was a warm spring day, and she had briefly considered putting her car’s convertible top down, but her hair had been carefully styled and fixed, and she didn’t want to risk disturbing it. She smoothed her skirt (which was scandalously short) and carefully walked up the uneven pathway on her designer heels (which were dangerously high). She checked to make sure the seams in her stockings were straight. She toyed with idea of undoing another button her crisp white blouse, but decided against it. 

Let the top one show some stress, she thought. It’ll make a better distraction…

She rang the bell. 

When Gertie opened the door, Prudence smiled widely, just as she had prepared to. When she had first met the Plentys, she had managed to maintain her composure, though the child Attitude had elicited an involuntary gasp. She was sure that Gertie had heard it, and Prudence had made a strong effort to get back on the older woman’s good side.

Of course, Gertie wasn’t her target. He target was sitting at the dining room table with his shoes off, whittling. The wood shavings fell into his overturned hat.

“Hello, Ms. Sensul.” Gertie greeted her. “You’re right on time, just like always.”

“Gertie, it’s lovely to see you.” She put her hands on Gertie’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “And, please, call me Prudence. I insist.”

Gertie’s lip curled just a bit. “Thanks just the same, but I hope that once we get this piece of business done today, we won’t be seeing you around these parts much.”

“Don’t be rude, woman!” B.O. Plenty shouted. “Sure, we got a business relationship with ol’ Prudie here, but that don’t mean we can’t be sociable. Shoot, I was fixin’ to invite her over for Thanksgiving dinner!”

Prudence briefly considered the spectacle of what Thanksgiving in the Plenty home might mean, and she responded quickly.

“I wish I could, B.O., really I do,” she said. “But I promised my mother I’d have Thanksgiving with her and her new beau back on the coast.”

“Oh? Which coast is that?” B.O. asked.

“The… East coast.” Prudence said, awkwardly.

“You don’t say?” B.O. beamed at her. “I’m from the east myself. ‘Course I was mighty young when Pappy brought us west. I was one of 8 boys, and-"

“Everybody knows, B.O.!” Gertie cut him off, then turned back to Prudence. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll get this taken care of. Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Prudence made her way to the dinner table, and B.O. pushed his hat out of the way so she could set her briefcase down. It was tan leather, lightweight but sturdy. Many of her colleagues had taken to using over-the-shoulder messenger bags in an attempt to seem less formal, but Prudence found they disrupted the lines of her outfits. She sat down, slightly more heavily than necessary, in an effort to make sure that everything bounced.

Prudence opened her briefcase and brought out the contract and her favorite pen. When people asked, she called it her Lucky Pen, but she didn’t really believe in luck. For Prudence, her business was all about preparation.

“So, you’ve looked over the final terms and don’t have any objections?” She asked B.O.

“Nope.” He said, and spat a well-aimed glob of tobacco juice at the spittoon at his feet. “Even had a lawyer friend in the city look it over and he assures me that it’s all on the upper-up.”

Prudence smiled. In spite of herself, she’d developed a certain fondness for the Plentys. They were rubes, to be sure, but they were charming rubes. And for someone in the insurance business, they were an absolute goldmine.

“So, if you’ll just sign here,” she held out the pen to B.O. and indicated the line on his policy, “We can ensure that Gertie and little Attitude will be able to continue to live in the style to which they’ve become accustomed in case anything should happen to you. Heavens forbid, of course.”

“Of course!” B.O. said. He turned to Gertie. “With a stroke of this here pen, Gertrude, I am securing your future financial sterility.”

Prudence came uncomfortably close to snorting with laughter, and Gertie rolled her eyes. Keep it together until the ink dries, Prudence thought.

When Prudence had first met the Plentys, she had been amazed that they had no life insurance. B.O. Plenty was a well-known public figure, famous for his misadventures with various notorious criminals. Gravel Gertie had a similar level of renown, and their daughter was an internationally famous recording artist and model. A chance meeting at a nearby farmers market had prompted Prudence to make several visits to the Plenty home, seeing exactly what kind of policy she could get them into.

Homeowners insurance was a non-starter, of course. The place was barely standing, and she doubted that it could pass a fire inspection. Additionally, disasters (both natural and otherwise) seemed drawn to the place. Yet somehow the Plentys had always survived and thrived, with numerous financial windfalls over the years. This made them the perfect combination of long-lived with access to cash, yet easily convinced of constant peril by Prudence’s life insurance pitch.

And now that she had landed them, she hoped she might have an in-road with some of their prominent friends, such as Diet Smith and VitaminFlintheart. Her painstakingly crafted appearance and persona were finally paying off as she watched B.O. Plenty carefully write his name.

She was momentarily distracted as their young son Attitude toddled past.

“Good Lord, is he holding a blowtorch?” Prudence gasped. Gertie looked at her son.

“Hmm. T’ain’t lit. He’ll be fine.” She said with a grim resignation.

B.O. finished signing the policy and handed the paper back to Prudence.

“There y’are.” He said. “You say I’ll get billed at the end of the month?”

“For the first sixth months’ premiums, yes.” Prudence explained as she looked over the document. “Then you won’t have to worry about it until renewal time.” 

Prudence’s brow wrinkled for a brief moment. “Mr. Plenty, I notice that you signed as ‘B.O.’. Is there a reason you don’t use your full name?”

“That’s how I’m known perfessionally.” B.O. explained. “Always have been. Never cared for just ‘Bob’ or ‘Bob Oscar’. T’ain’t dignified.”

“But wait a minute.” Prudence said, leaning towards him. “Isn’t ‘Bob’ short for ‘Robert’? So your initials SHOULD be R.O. Plenty, right?”

B.O.’s eyes narrowed, then went wide. “Sakes alive, I’ve been livin’ a lie!” He thundered. “Gertrude! Why didn’t you ever say anything about this?”

“It’s your name, husband, I figured it was your own business.” Gertie replied.

B.O. was on his feet, flying across the room to the kitchen sink. He cast aside the curtain under it and crawled into the cabinet.

“I hope I haven’t caused a problem.” Prudence said.

“Oh, he just gets like this…” Gertie sighed.

Prudence marveled at Gertie’s nonchalant reaction to B.O.’s sudden fit. She had taken notice of the unique relationship the couple shared. In the blink of an eye they could go from shouting to kissing. One minute, Gertie would scold B.O. about his ill-mannered ways and he would puff up his chest and defend himself as ‘refusin’ to put on airs’, the next minute she would be wrapped in his arms and twiddling his beard between her fingers and it would be as though the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Prudence wondered if she would ever know a love like that, so sweet and yet so passionate, but she had to acknowledge that she was too committed to her work. Maybe when I’m their age, she thought.

B.O. emerged from under the sink holding a yellowed piece of paper.

“I knew that safe was a good idea!” He shouted. “It’s protected my vital documentarians through flood, fire, earthquakes and lightning bolts. And here is my birth certificate, fresh as the day it were born!”

Gertie looked over her husband’s shoulder. “It says your name is Boniface.” She observed.

B.O. was goggle-eyed. “It does not! It cain’t!” he objected.

“Either that or it’s ‘Bony-Face’.” Gertie assured him. “Which do you prefer, love of my life?”

“Boniface Oscar Plenty!” B.O. read. “Clear as day in black and white as the nose of my face!” 

B.O. walked across the room and collapsed in his chair. He accidentally flipped over his hat, sending wood shavings flying. Gertie rolled her eyes.

“All these years! All my brothers, lying to me! And my sister! And Mammy and Pappy, too!” He looked at Prudence. “Why would they keep this from me?”

“I – I really don’t know what to say…” She stumbled.

“I’m sure there’s a good reason.” Gertie said, grabbing a broom. “You remember how you couldn’t pronounce your brother Kincaid’s name when you were a young’un, so you called him ‘Canhead’? And then everybody else did, too? Well, you probably couldn’t pronounce ‘Boniface’ neither, so they told you it was Bob so you wouldn’t feel silly not being able to say your own name.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that could be it.” B.O. rubbed his forehead, still looking stricken. “Miss Prudence, I hope you won’t mind if I ask you to give me some time alone? I need to make a few phone calls. And a glass of Gertrude’s famous homemade tonic wouldn’t hurt none, either…”

Prudence stood. “Of course, B.O., I understand.” She stepped towards the door. “Before I leave, though, I was wondering if you could put me in touch with-"

“Some other time, dearie.” Gertie soothed as she ushered Prudence out the door. “My man needs his space right now.”

Prudence emerged into the sun and the door slammed shut behind her. Plaster dust and paint flakes showered down from the door jamb and coated her hair and shoulders. She shook her head and brushed off her clothes, grateful that no one could see such an undignified display.

Still, it’s not the MOST undignified thing I’ve done to close a deal… She thought as she clacked her way to her car. She planned to celebrate that night. 

Maybe I’ll go back to that karaoke place I went to on my birthday, she thought. The drinks are cheap, the men are super-gay, and I can sing ‘Taxman’ again. God, Ringo is so cute…

END

Custom Action Figure - 3.75" Movie Breathless Mahoney

Well, it was bound to happen eventually.

Breathless Mahoney was made using the head of an Applause figurine and the body of a Hasbro Marvel Universe Black Widow (with the left hand from Dagger). The feet are from a G.I. Joe Baroness figure (she wears heels!) and the dress is just some cloth I had lying around.

Very often, cloth won't look good or drape correctly on a figure of this size, but I'm satisfied with how theis came out.

This is meant to duplicate her appearance at the beginning of the film, when she's abducted by Big Boy's men along with Lips Manlis.

I'll say this - I originally thought that the Applause figurine was not a good likeness of Madonna. But now that I see it painted differently, it's not bad. The original figure had a much darker flesh tone, while Madonna in the film was very much working the porcelain doll look.

I've made this point elsewhere, but I'll re-iterate it here - The character in the movie is actually most closer to Sleet from the comic strip than it is to Breathless. That being said "Breathless Mahoney" is a much more cinematic character name.

Some people have criticized Madonna's performance for being unremarkable, but I really think that comes down more to the writing. It's a role that doesn't demand much from the actress, as it's a lot of one-liners. An argument could be made that Madonna could have done more to make Breathless complex (is she really tough, or is she just ACTING tough because she knows she's really vulnerable and hates that about herself?), but I think would make the movie more than what it was trying to be.

Also, to her credit, Madonna is easily the second-best singer in the film.

One other thing - The "Trivia" section on imdb.com for the Dick Tracy movie lists almost every young-ish, blonde-ish actress in Hollywood at the time as having been "considered" for the role of Breathless. I'd be interested to see a list of who actually auditioned/screen-tested, if any such information is available.

And the Trail Goes Cold...

Grant Morgan Shoe took a deep breath and surveyed the scene. It was nice day, with some clouds and a cool breeze, so he had his car windows down as he parked on the corner and monitored the house. It seemed like a friendly-enough neighborhood, though the houses struck him as basically inter-changeable. Another Pleasant Valley Sunday, he thought, and chuckled to himself.

Some kids were playing street hockey in the cul-de-sac, but they didn’t seem to paying any attention to him. He lifted his sunglasses to get a better look at them, practicing his observation skills.

Four boys, approximately aged 9 to 12. None of them taller than five feet. Slim builds. Let’s see… One with dark hair, one blond, swept up… Huh. A couple of ‘em are black. And they’re playing hockey. Who’d have thought?

He turned his attention back to the house he’d had under surveillance. There was no activity. He thought it might be a while, as there was no telling when the woman might get home. He doubted that anything would come from this stake-out, but he had an assignment and the client was paying good money.

Grant thought back to a Private Investigators convention that he had attended the previous year. He’d sat in on a panel about drones, and how they were the future of security and surveillance. The speaker had made a big deal about how drones were unobtrusive, stealthy, easily disposable and nearly impossible to trace if the correct precautions were taken. The moderator was convinced that in five year’s time, drones would be as commonplace as street lights, with people taking no notice of them. This would allow private detectives to engage in safe, long-distance surveillance without the need for time-consuming stake-outs.

Of course, the whole thing had proven to be an elaborate sales pitch, but they’d made a good case. Still, Grant preferred the street-level peeping that he had built his business on. Most of that, though, took place in the bustling city, where there was always SOMETHING to look at. Plenty of hot dog vendors, too. Here, the best he could hope for was to catch one of these kids high-sticking their friend.

After an hour, an SUV pulled into the driveway. A girl – Blonde, adolescent , maybe early teens, Grant observed, though he didn’t get a look at her face – hopped out of the back seat with a shopping bag. She hustled into the house. Grant got out of his car and approached the adult woman as she loaded her arms with shopping bags from the trunk.

All right, let’s see, Grant thought as he approached, The mother-in-law knows me, and so does her partner at the Tracy Agency. All the officers at the MCU know me from those times I had to testify, but as long as the husband isn’t here, she shouldn’t recognize me. 

“Mrs. Tracy! Do you need a hand?” Grant asked, trying to keep his voice non-threatening.

The woman turned to face him. He was struck.

Holy Cripes, she’s gorgeous! Grant thought. I mean, you see someone on TV and you think it’s all lighting and make-up, but those eyelashes go out for a mile! And that hair…! 

Grant realized that he had stopped and was staring. He composed himself. “I’m sorry, I just saw you with all of those bags, and I thought maybe you could use some help?”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” she asked. Her voice had the slightest hint of a twang in it that Grant found irresistibly charming. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

“Oh! Oh, no, actually, I’m here to see you, in fact.” Grant explained. “It’s just a coincidence I arrived right when you were getting home. You ARE Sparkle Plenty Tracy, aren’t you?”

Of course she is, Grant thought. She’s been famous her whole life. What a dumb thing to say. I’m blowing this…

Sparkle smiled, and Grant practically melted. “Yes, I’m Sparkle. I don’t need any help, though, thank you. Grew up on a farm. Did you need something?”

“Oh, yes, thanks.” Grant fumbled in his pocket for the business card he’d made up. His plan had been to play up the awkward, star-struck act to try to make her feel at ease, but he found that he didn’t need to fake it. “My name’s Bart Grimes. I’m the President of the Moon Maid Fan Club. Just the local chapter, though, not the national. But, since is this is where she was based when she was alive, it’s kind of a big deal. Plus, I maintain the Wiki about her.”

Sparkle looked at the card. Grant couldn’t read her expression. Man, her fingers are so delicate. So… Graceful…

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grimes, I really don’t have a lot to say about Moon Maid. You probably want my husband and he’s very busy.” Sparkle handed the card back.

“No, I understand.” Grant said. “I was actually hoping that you might be able to help me with something specific, though. You remember when you won the Moon Maid Look-Alike Contest? From Sunny Wheat Cereal?”

Sparkle’s face lit up at the mention of the event. “Oh, yes! That was a hoot and a holler! Me and my parents got a free trip to the moon. Mammy and Pappy had barely even been out of the state since they were little tykes, and then all of a sudden we were up there in outer space.”

Grant grabbed a pad and paper and scribbled some notes, though this wasn’t what he was really interested in. Sparkle continued. “Mammy liked it most of all, I think. We were all a little scared that she would keep wearing them Moon clothes when we got back to Earth, she was so taken with them.”

“Uh-huh.” Grant tried to keep his tone level. This was the big question. “I was wondering if you remember the woman who came in second? Her name was Glenna? I understand you met her.”

Sparkle’s smile faded. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her in a long time. I don’t know anybody who has. Maybe you can ask at the cereal company.”

In fact, Grant had contacted the Sunny Wheat Cereal company to ask after Glenna. It had been the first place he’d gone when he’d taken this case. The executives had not been especially forthcoming. Not a surprise, I guess. he’d thought as he was being escorted off the premises by security.

“Sure, sure.” Grant said. “I just thought maybe you’d have kept in touch, or knew where to reach her or something. I wanted to get her take on the contest for my blog.”

The door to the house opened and the blonde girl stepped out. “Sparkle, are you coming?”

Grant saw the girl and gasped. “Holy Cripes, kid!” he said without thinking. “What are those things on your head?”

The girl scowled. Sparkle did also. Grant looked back and forth between them, then stammered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, really. You must be Honeymoon, right? I’ve read all about you. I just wasn’t prepared for, you know…”

“I think we’re finished, Mr. Grimes.” Sparkle shut the trunk, not taking her bags. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t come to my home again.” She hustled up the walkway and ushered Honeymoon inside.

Grant walked back to his car. Well, that went about as well as could be expected, he thought. Damn, I should have asked to get a picture with her…

***

A week later, Grant sat in his office. His client was seated across the desk. He was an old man with a wrinkled face, wearing dark glasses and a hat, even indoors. When they had first met, Grant had taken notice of the peculiar odor that the man carried.

“Are you wearing perfume?” Grant had asked.

“It’s scented hand lotion.” Posie Ermine had explained. “It’s nice.” He apparently considered the matter closed, and Grant hadn’t pressed the issue. 

Now, though, the man slumped. He had hired Grant to track down his daughter, who had gone missing while Posie had been in prison. The old man had a series of letters he had received from her, sent from here in the city, where she had settled after serving her own prison term. The last several letters were filled with happiness and optimism, and they described a new cosmetic surgical procedure that Glenna had volunteered for.

“I don’t know why,” Posie had said. “She’s a beautiful girl. Always has been. Just wanted to look more like that crazy Moon woman, I guess.” 

Grant had looked over the photos that Posie had provided of his daughter. She’s got a nice shape, he’d thought. But that face, ugh…

Grant had taken the case, agreeing to find whatever he could about the daughter’s current whereabouts and report back. His results had been disappointing. Between Sparkle Plenty Tracy and the cereal company, no one seemed to have seen or heard from Glenna in years. The fact that Glenna had also used another name hadn’t helped matters much either. 

Grant had even tried to get in contact with this “new” Moon Maid, the woman who called herself Mysta Chimera, but that had been a non-starter. Even though she’d starred in that movie, she was a notorious recluse and he couldn’t find any way of making contact with her. 

Now, Grant had to break the news to Posie. The old man was devastated.

“The farthest I got was the doctors.” Grant explained. “Ghote and Sail. Ghote’s got a record and some underworld ties, but nobody’s seen him in while.”

“I know the name.” Posie said cryptically. “What about the other one?”

“Clean as a whistle.” Grant said. “Dr. S. Tim Sail has no criminal record. His taxes are current, no outstanding debts or anything. But, just like Ghote, the trail goes cold. Like he just disappeared off the face of the Earth one day.”

Posie’s face drooped. “So there’s no hope? No trace of where these men might have taken my daughter?”

“I could keep at it, but a lot of people are stonewalling me.” Grant said. If he was being completely honest, he would have said that the case bored him and he just didn’t want to devote any more time to it. But Posie had paid for two weeks in advance, so that’s what he’d gotten.

“Look, think of it this way,” Grant suggested. “These doctors were going to fix up your daughter’s face, right? So, probably what happened is that they did such a good job that one of them fell in love with her, and they ran off together. And maybe they don’t want to be found, ‘cause the other doctor would get jealous, right?”

Grant didn’t mention the other option. According to my research, he thought, neither Dr. Zy Ghote or Dr. S. Tim Sail was a cosmetic surgeon. So, what was most likely is that they had engaged in some highly-experimental treatment on Glenna and it HADN’T gone well, so they’d had to destroy the evidence of their wrongdoing and go into hiding. Still, Grant didn’t see any reason to put that thought in the old man’s head.

Posie Ermine sighed heavily and shook his head. “She was all I had to look forward to when I got out, you know? We were going to turn things around. I had a little money squirreled away, where the cops couldn’t get at it. We’d open a little flower shop, do weddings, funerals, that kind of thing. I’d be surrounded by beauty all day long, between the flowers and her…”

Posie stood up and went to go. Then he turned back.

“You have the address for Sparkle Plenty?” he asked.

“Sparkle Plenty TRACY?” Grant said, attempting to remind the old man of exactly who he was dealing with. “Yeah, I have it.”

“I want it.” Posie said.

Has this guy never heard of Google? Grant thought. Lucky for me that he hasn’t, I guess. Grant didn’t respond, just looked at Posie impassively.

“A thousand dollars.” Posie said. “Cash.”

Posie reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He counted off ten hundred-dollar bills and slapped them on Grant’s desk. Grant looked at the money, then wrote down an address on a piece of paper. He handed it to Posie.

“This better be right.” Posie said. “I know where your office is. And I’m not so old.”

“I got it. Do whatever you want.” Grant smiled. “What do I care?”

Grant couldn’t read Posie’s expression behind the dark glasses. The old man turned and left.

Grant breathed a heavy sigh of relief, glad that the tension was gone from the room. He scooped up the cash and folded it into his shirt pocket, then pondered his next move for a moment. 

Well, I guess I gotta do the right thing, he thought. I mean, I AM one of the good guys…

Grant picked up the phone and dialed. “Hello, Police Department? Can I have Detective Tracy in the Major Crimes Unit? It’s a matter regarding his family…”

END