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"THE ADVENTURES OF VIC SOCOTRA, PRIVATE DICK"
TODAY: "OUT TO LAUNCH" I HAD BEEN KNOCKED OUT MORE TIMES THAN A FAT PITCH TO THE BAMBINO, It was getting old in a hurry. This time I came around and discovered I could not move. I raised my arms and found they were shackled behind me with chains. I was gagged with some kind of cotton wadding. My feet were tied together with thick manila cordage. A heavy link collar ran from my neck over to the wall. I had a feeling the situation was starting to get serious. I was in another one of a series of small grey rooms. I never did like gray. I liked it even less now. I desperately wanted a smoke, but the chains kept me from getting to my lighter. I would have had to smoke it through my nose, anyway. I was pondering the ramifications of that when the door began to swing open.
I was out to lunch and I hadn't even had breakfast.
The Quack came in first. He was still wearing that crazy white robe with the hood. His dark eyes seemed to twinkle behind his spectacles. "I hope the accommodations have not been too discomforting, Socotra," he wheezed. "I assure you any inconvenience will be fleeting." He giggled after the last part, as though he had said something exceedingly witty. "Mmmmnghgh," I replied. "Ah, I'm so glad you still have that famous indomitable spirit. The Fat Man will be most pleased. In fact, he told me he might be stopping by to see you personally."
I struggled at my bonds. If I could only free my hands from the shackles, I could tear the gag out of my mouth, untie my feet, and rip the chain out of the wall and rearrange the little doctor's grillwork. I was still working on the first part when the door opened and a huge hand reached in and fumed off the light. I had only a fleeting impression of a paw as big as a grizzly bear and an arm that resembled an obscene kielbasa. The fingers were like little knockwursts. God, I was hungry! I had a sinking feeling in my gut, and it wasn't all because I could have used a rasher of bacon, a five-egg combination omelet, some hashed browns, a side of sautéed mushrooms, a steaming pot of coffee, and a stiff bloody Mary. Not all of it. In the light from the passageway, I just got a glimpse of a huge form. The door swung shut, and I was covered by complete darkness -black as ink, impenetrable as anthracite coal. But I could feel the presence. And a soft muffled breathing like a steam leak.
The giant loudspeaker I had been hearing for days sputtered to life: "The starboard sponson aft is now open for the dumping of 'trash and garbage," said the booming metallic voice.
An oddly-pitched squeaky voice spoke from the blackest part of the room. "That sounds like an exit line, Socotra." TOMORROW: "THE FAT MAN SPEAKS" |