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| Composer : Arranger : Publisher : | Davis, Charles (1945 - ) | ||
| Instrumentation : | Piano solo | ||
| Style : | Blues | ||
| Key : | G minor | ||
| Date : | 2022 | ||
| Copyright : | Copyright © 2022 Charles Davis, license Creative Commons CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 | ||
| Added by cdavis64davis, 05 May 2022 Mort Mandril, Private Eye Alone, in a city with no heart, I walk the rainy streets. Business is slow. No cheating husbands or wives. A bad sign. I headed to Clancey’s, the nearby noir detective hangout, but something distracted me. A local wiseguy, Vinnie the Icepick was tailing a well-dressed woman. Vinnie was tough, but not as tough as he thought he was. I decided to diplomatically intervene, “Get lost Vinnie before I give you a second smile.” “Oh yeah Mandril, you and what army?” “The one in my pocket.” To my surprise, this worked. The damsel in distress was named Anna. She seemed nice [additional attributes deleted by the PC police]. She needed help, and I needed work, but something was fishy, and it wasn’t just the accent. “Where are you from, Anna”? “Des Moines,” she replied. Yeah sure. Anna had a strange request. She wanted me to take a rather large suitcase to the airport and store it. For $1000, I was game, provided the contents were above board, or at least mostly so. She showed me said contents, and indeed they were innocuous enough, if straight from a thrift store. So I took the deal. Anna said to return the claim check to her at the Harry Arms Hotel later that day. But the plot soon thickened. Said hotel, definitely not one of the city’s finest, had no such guest. In fact, it cost me a bit of dough just to elicit that. After a further payment I was informed that they had never had such a guest. I had decided to just let it go. After all, $1000 is $1000. However, the next day I got an unexpected visit at a very uncivilized hour. “Mandril, come out with your hands up,” rang out the well known voice of Sergeant O’Malley. I stumbled to the door. “What the hell do you want, O’Malley?” “Hands Up, we’re off to the station.” After an hour of waiting in a dimly lit room at the local precinct, Ferril Stark, their one and only detective showed up. “What’s up Ferret?”, I said cheerfully. The Ferret was in no such mood. “You know all about it, I’m sure. We’ve been looking everywhere for that suitcase. And don’t call me Ferret. And no BS. You’re looking at accessory to murder charges.” That sort of changed things. Did they think I had helped kill someone with a suitcase? I related what I knew, which wasn’t much and handed over the claim check. The Ferret (oops, I mean Detective Stark) seemed to buy my story. It helped that it was true. I was released and told to not wander far and keep out of the case. But why all the fuss for a suitcase full of Salvation Army garb? It seems a body had been found in that suitcase a couple of days earlier and the suitcase had strangely disappeared. No one knew why. I decided that keeping out of the case wasn’t really something I wanted to do, a decision I would come to regret. [to be continued pending additional literary and musical inspiration] | |||
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