|
"THE ADVENTURES OF VIC SOCOTRA, PRIVATE DICK"
TODAY'S EPISODE: "THE QUACK IN THE BACK"
AFTER I DECKED THE GUY AT WEIGHT CONTROL, THERE WAS PANDEMONIUM. Huge bodies were moving everywhere. I had to keep moving just to survive. The scales went over with a crash. I took advantage of the chaos to slip through the door marked "Dr. Ali Fleiglebaum."
I flashed immediately on that name. When we broke up the Encino Pederasty Ring, The Police kept saying that between the Fat Man and the Spats Mod was a shadowy figure called "The Quack". I had to give it a try. It could be my only decent clue in seven episodes.
I came into the little room quietly. A hooded figure was bent over a desk crowded with chemical retorts and bubbling mixtures. I cleared my throat. The figure looked up, and I stared into dark, dark eyes.
"Well, Socotra, I was wondering when you would stick your big nose into the operation," he breathed out with a dry, wheezing sound. He elaborately lit up a long dark Egyptian cigarette and blew the smoke across the desk. "I'm glad I have this opportunity to talk to you before the Fat Man has a chance to finish you off."
I wished I had my gun.
The empty space where my shoulder holster used to be felt as big as a football field.
I wished I had a drink.
Heck, for that matter, I wished I was still back in L.A., having a decent meal where the scenery didn't go up and down and wasn't blue colored and watery. But you have to go with what you are dealt in the big poker game of life. I went for the busted flush.
"Oh, yeah?" I replied cleverly.
"Yes, Socotra." He drew out the syllables of my name so that it sounded like a tea kettle.
"We have got to come to an agreement about your interference. Either you lay off, or you will be laid off with extreme prejudice. Do you understand the meaning of my statement?"
"You'd better spell it in capitals, chump," I snarled at him. He reached into an inside pocket and produced a sheaf of currency. He started counting out century notes. When he hit fifty, he stopped.
"'Course I never really had anything against the Fat Man personally." That much cash would keep me in Budweiser for weeks! I leaned across the desk and started counting. I kept at it - counted again. I couldn't make it come out right. I was getting drowsy. I looked up bleary-eyed at the little man. He was peeling off surgical gloves. He smiled.
"That money is coated with a powerful sedative, Mr. Socotra." He was starting to go out of focus. I tried to get to my feet. My body weighed as much as the Empire State Building.
"Relax, Socotra. You will only make it more difficult for yourself." I staggered and crashed into the desk covered with the chemical jars and bottles.
I went down like the Lusitania. I heard the tinkling of broken glass. The last thing I saw was the doctor grabbing the final jar. I guess he had the final retort, after all ....
TOMORROW: "OUT TO LAUNCH"
|