Pop Culture Mysteries: Case File #005 – Smeller vs. Denier.
Or – He Who Smelt It, Dealt It vs. He Who Denied It, Supplied It.
This case stinks.
Pulitzer Prize, here I come.
And now…
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Monthly Archives: August 2015
Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 7)
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
Part 1
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
QUESTION 1
DELILAH: Informant Zero, I shall proceed with Mr. Battler’s first question. In the song, My Humps, the artist Fergie was asked multiple times by her bandmates, the Black Eyed Peas, what would she do, and I quote, “with all that junk inside that trunk?”
What exactly did she do with that junk in her trunk?
“What, was she moving?” I asked.
“Innuendo for her extensive backside, Mr. Hatcher.”
“Ahh,” I said.
Informant Zero took a drag on his cigarette. He was quiet, clearly deep in thought. Then it came to him.
“As I recall, according to that 2005 hit, Fergie specifically stated, and I quote, ‘I’ma get, get, get, get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump’ and from there on she uses the words ‘humps’ and ‘lumps’ interchangeably.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“In reference to her voluptuous figure, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah explained.
“Oh. In that case I’ve been love drunk off your humps for quite some time, Ms. Donnelly.”
“The only thing you’re drunk off of is cheap bourbon.”
“Touche.”
“This is my favorite part of the blog,” Informant Zero said to me. “When Ms. Donnelly shuts down your incessant advances.”
“I’ll shut you down, Jack.”
QUESTION 2
DELILAH: Mr. Battler also asks, “If Iron Man has so many back up suits, why does he not simply give each member of the Avengers their own suit?”
“Ms. Donnelly,” I said. “It pains me to hear talk of comic books coming from your angelic voice. Someday we need to talk about why you waste your time helping Battler at all.”
“But that sometime is not today, Mr. Hatcher.”
“Wow,” Informant Zero said. “What a stumper. But I’ve got it. The Hulk is a rage monster. He’s barely controllable as it is. Put an enormous psychopath inside a suit that will make him even stronger? That spells disaster. Thor? He’s the Son of Odin. He’s royalty in Yodenheim. Do we trust Thor’s people? I mean, do we really trust them? Would he take that suit back to his own world, have his Norse scientists reverse engineer it and make a bunch of them? Before you know it, you’ve got a race of white self-proclaimed supermen waging a war of global conquest on Earth.”
“Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt,” I said. “Called it WWII.”
“Stark won’t give Capt. America an iron suit on account of how they’ll go their separate ways in next year’s Marvel Civil War movie. I’m going to be there with bells on.”
“This guy,” I said as I pointed to him but looked at Delilah. “Is just like Battler. A nerd who just sits around and wastes all his time on comic books and movies.”
“Indeed,” Delilah said. “But I think he might just be the nerd that Mr. Battler needs.”
“Thank you,” Informant Zero said. “Hawkeye wouldn’t want the suit because he couldn’t contribute his archery prowess with metal hands. And Black Widow? You could give her an iron suit but it’d lead to global destruction once a month.”
Delilah was aghast.
“Maybe you’re right, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said. “Perhaps I should start to question why I waste my time on this drivel.”
QUESTION 3
Finally, Mr. Battler wants to know whether or not Tony Soprano died in the series finale of HBO’s The Sopranos.
“Isn’t that the question we all want an answer to?” Informant Zero asked.
“Not really,” I replied.
“Producer David Chase gave us a do-it-yourself ending. That’s sure to always generate controversy with fans who’ve invested hours of their lives in a series. People want closure. It doesn’t matter what happens, as long as whatever it is, is directly spelled out.”
“So spell it out,” I said.
“We see the Soprano family enjoying a night out at a restaurant. Tony, Carmella, and son Anthony Jr. all gather around a table eating onion rings. Daughter Meadow is late, and a great deal of emphasis is placed on her inability to properly parallel park her car. The viewer’s mind races. ‘Is the family about to be killed? Is Meadow going to luck out through her tardiness?’ A man in a Member’s Only jacket goes to the bathroom. Is he just a random fellow who needs to wizz or, in true Godfather tradition, is he going to come out of the shitter guns blazing?”
“Who cares?” I asked.
“You would had you watched it,” Informant Zero said. “Chase was creative, I’ll give him that. In the past, the answer would have been, ‘it’s up to you.’ However, Chase has since stated publicly that Tony Soprano lived. What did Tony do next? Your guess is as good as mine.”
“TV never got better than I Love Lucy if you ask me. Redhead wants to sing at the club. Husband says no. Hilarity ensues.”
“You should catch up on the shows you missed while you were Rip Van Winkling, Hatcher,” Informant Zero said. “Things have gotten more interesting than a duo of housewives stomping on grapes.”
“Mr. Zero,” Delilah said. “Do you seek compensation?”
“Now wait a minute,” I said. “If he gets offered more than five bucks a case, I’m walking.”
“I’m going to write a number down on this piece of paper, Ms. Donnelly. I think Mr. Battler will find it more than satisfactory.”
Informant Zero scribbled away then handed the note over.
Delilah looked surprised, then showed me the paper.
“A zero?” I asked.
“Just like my name,” Informant Zero said. “Zero symbolizes nothing and yet, as a concept, it still exists. That is what I strive to be. No one knows who I am. I work to make the world a better place and yet I strive to remain unidentified and unidentifiable. I am nothing and I also exist.”
“How poetic,” Delilah said.
“Battler will be happy, the cheap bastard.”
Delilah stood up. I followed.
“I believe we’ve reached an accord, Mr. Zero. I shall relay the details of our rendezvous with Mr. Battler and draw up a memorandum of understanding immediately.”
“Very well, Ms. Donnelly. Mr. Hatcher.”
The door buzzed. Informant Zero’s goon was waiting for us.
“But Hatcher?”
I turned around. The shadowy information broker had one more thing to say.
“While I don’t seek monetary compensation, know that one day I might call on you to assist me with a favor. I won’t disturb you unless it’s a task that only a man of your mettle is qualified for, but when that day comes, I hope my assistance will have obtained me the benefit of your skills.”
“You don’t want me to rub the cowboy down with cottage cheese do you?”
“No,” Informant Zero said. “Nothing so undignified. It will no doubt be a task that a man with your sense of right and wrong won’t be able to ignore.”
“Try me,” I said as I led Delilah out.
“I will.”
The goon called the elevator. Moments later it dinged and we were inside.
“I don’t like this, Ms. Donnelly. Not one bit.”
“Indeed, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said. “We shall have to do our very best to keep Informant Zero at arm’s length.”
Pop Culture Mysteries: Behind the Scenes – What is the Role of the Bookshelf Battle Blog in the Story?
Hey 3.5 readers.
“It’s a blog that writes about itself. Exceptionally confusing.”
Welcome to another “Pop Culture Mysteries: Behind the Scenes,” the only column where I, Bookshelf Q. Battler, ask random Internet folk for writing advice because my friends and family are such that they’ll laugh their asses off if I tell them that I’m helping a 95 year old private dick write his memoirs.
There’s been an issue in the back of the mind and it starts to come to the forefront in the Informant Zero story.
OK. Stay with me here.
- Jake is a writer for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
- The Bookshelf Battle Blog exists in the Pop Culture Mysteries world. It has to, because Bookshelf Q. Battler bosses Jake around through his attorney, Delilah K. Donnelly.
- Ergo, won’t people, when they meet Jake, look up the Bookshelf Battle Blog and learn about Jake’s past and his special abilities (non aging, invincibility, etc)
Originally, I thought I’d go with that old cliche where the special hero doesn’t reveal his special-ness to people he meets. The vampire hides his fangs and blends in with the norms. Superman puts on a pair of glasses. Bruce Wayne pretends to be an do-nothing playboy.
Wait, let’s back up a minute.
THUS FAR, WHO KNOWS THAT JAKE IS A 95 YEAR OLD PRIVATE DICK?
- Ms. Tsang, obviously, because she took care of him while he was asleep for decades. Eventually, I’ll work it into the story how that burden really sucked for her and kept her from doing a lot of things she wanted to do in life, including starting a family, because, you know, how do you explain to people that there’s a gumshoe upstairs that just sleeps forever, never grows old and stays young?
- Delilah K. Donnelly and Bookshelf Q. Battler – Battler’s claim to be able to answer Jake’s question of why did he sleep for 60 years is the center point of the series. Battler knows, his trusted attorney Delilah knows, but they aren’t telling until 100 Pop Culture Mysteries are solved. (Or does Battler know – is he just yanking Jake’s chain for the unscrupulous purpose of bringing a writer with an interesting story to his blog?)
- Others from Jake’s Past, Who May or May Not Start Appearing in the Future, and If They Do, Only BQB and Delilah Will Know Why Past People are Showing Up in the Future – We’ll get to that. Mickey Finn (Jake’s old partner), first girlfriend Peaches, his three ex-wives and anyone else from the past is fair game to return to the future.
THUS FAR, WHO DOESN’T KNOW THAT JAKE IS A 95 YEAR OLD PRIVATE DICK? – Agnes Abernathy, aka Agnes the Librarian, is Jake’s unwilling research assistant. As a public librarian in a busy city library, she’s used to all types wandering in and bugging her to look stuff up for them. Hobos and bums often use the library as place to hang out and up until Fan Dime Drops, Agnes thought that Jake was another bum. She still thinks Jake is odd, but after seeing Delilah meet with Jake, she at least believes that Jake writes for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
BUT – she has yet to realize that Jake is a 95 year old private dick.
BUT – if Agnes keeps helping Jake research “cases” for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, wouldn’t Agnes one day be curious enough to take a peak at the Bookshelf Battle Blog and therefore, read Jake’s tales of stuff that happened to him long, long ago?
THUS – I’m not sure how I’ll handle this. Right now, I’m leaning toward the possibility that:
- Agnes checks out the BB Blog.
- Agnes does read Jake’s stories that happen long ago.
- Agnes assumes either a) Jake’s a nut (like she already does) or b) Jake’s just a modern day 35 year old and he’s just really into historical fiction and roleplaying and enjoys it so much that he walks around in a fedora and trenchcoat.
BUT – Will Jake openly share his “secret” with people?
OPTION 1 – Yes. After all, Ma Hatcher taught him never to tell a lie. He’ll wander LA, openly telling people he’s 95 years old and slept for 60 years without reservation. Most people won’t believe him, but at least he didn’t lie.
OPTION 2 – No. Best to keep it hush hush. Yes, I, Jake, do claim to be 95 years old on the blog, but that’s just for fun, don’t believe it.
Either way, most people Jake meets in modern times will not believe it.
WHAT ABOUT FUTURE MODERN WORLD CHARACTERS JAKE WILL MEET?
Remember that story, The Wrong Guy, I half finished?
I decided it was too early for all the revelations in that, and to hold off.
SPOILER ALERT:
BUT – I hope that story will end with Jake meeting a female present day LA police detective.
Female dick…er, detective.
Remember how Jake took out a few drug dealers?
The female detective will look at Jake as an off-kilter vigilante and start watching him, looking for a way to bring Jake in. More and more, Jake will start using his private dick powers to help modern day people.
So, yeah. Jake’s kinda like Batman. And the female detective will kinda be like the cops that think Batman’s a menace.
Or maybe Jake’s not like Batman. Maybe Jake’s honest to everyone about his powers and no one believes him.
It’d be like if Bruce Wayne were to walk around shouting, “I’m Batman!” and everyone’s like, “That’s impossible! Stop lying, Bruce.”
(Will Jake and the female detective ever come to an understanding and work together? Your guess is as good as mine).
BUT – I guess, like AGNES, the question will be, will the female cop, after reading the BB Blog to find out more about Jake, believe Jake is 95 or just assume he’s crazy or writing fiction?
OTHER ISSUES:
- INVINCIBILITY – In the Wrong Guy, (there’s already some posts that show it) we learn that in modern times, Jake doesn’t just not age. He’s invincible. Shoot him. Stab him. Toss him off a building. Whatever. Jake still keeps ticking. Note in the past, from 1920 (his birth) to 1955 ( his nap) he was mortal and could have been killed, but now he can’t. It’s all part of the mystery that we HOPE Bookshelf Q. Battler will reveal once the 100 mysteries are solved.
- HOW TO HANDLE THAT – It’s the blog issue all over again. If Jake writes about his invincibility on the blog, won’t characters read about it? Will Jake just be honest and tell them, “Yup, I’m invincible” will he hide it or will characters just assume he’s lying until they somehow see it happen ( They witness Jake get shot and get back up and are like, oh ok, Jake’s not lying.)
- BB Blog vs. PCM Blog – Once I write the rough draft of the first season here on the BB blog, I’ll rewrite it, revise it, and then start posting it on the PCM Blog. So should I not refer to BB Blog and just have Delilah recruit Jake to work for the PCM blog? I actually think I should just start the season with a note that this all started on the bookshelf battle blog, this is how Jake solved a bunch of mysteries for the bb blog at first, and then work it into the story (I start to in Informant Zero) that Jake will be shifting to the PCM blog. So the first season will be about how Jake moved from BB to PCM.
- AGNES – Do you guys like the Agnes character? I’m toying with the idea that she eventually leaves the library and becomes Jake’s secretary. On the PCM blog, she might get a regular column where she promotes indie authors by listing five-ten indie books she’d like to see in her library. (Of course, then she can’t become Jake’s secretary, she’ll have to stay at the library.
SO HOW THE HELL WILL JAKE FUNCTION IN THE MODERN WORLD?
Eventually, Jake’s going to need:
- Money – And more than BQB’s cheap-o $5 bucks a case. Per Delilah’s suggestion, Jake will have to start looking for actual, REAL mystery having clients who pay a lot more than $5. Ms. Tsang can’t carry Jake’s ass forever.
- Papers – Jake’s 95 years old. His driver’s license, documents, etc., they’re all 60 years old. Maybe Ms. Donnelly can work some of her legal magic to get Jake recognized as an actual citizen…which will require them to show he was born in 1981! (Hell, maybe that’s a job for an Informant Zero).
AND FINALLY, WRAP YOUR HEAD AROUND THIS ONE….
- If Jake was an infamous lawman in the 1940s and 50’s
- Then surely, like Elliot Ness and other famous crimefighters, news articles were written about him.
- Those articles probably printed his picture at the time.
- And that picture will look like Jake now.
- So if a) Jake tries to not let people in on the secret that he’s 95 OR if people refuse to believe it even though he’s up front about it:
- Then how do we reconcile this?
I’M LEANING TOWARDS – People have a habit of explaining away the supernatural. That bump in the night isn’t a ghost. It’s your house settling.
(Calm down! It’s not really a ghost! Sheesh!)
OPTIONS:
- If Jake hides his secret, he tells people who ask about the resemblance to past Jake that he’s the grandson of infamous 40s 50s lawman Jake Hatcher and was named after him.
- But I think I’m leaning towards Jake just is open and honest to everyone that he’s 95 and if they don’t believe it, that’s their problem. Because people are quick to rationalize the supernatural, these people, like Agnes or the female detective, might just write the resemblance off as a coincidence.
- Maybe Delilah goes behind Jake’s back and tells them “Hey, yeah, Jake’s really the grandson of Jake Hatcher from long ago and he just likes to play pretend.”
I dunno. Many possibilities there.
What I’m realizing is when you move from an idea to actual publication, so, so many loose ends pile up then you have to tie up.
Maybe that’s why so many aspiring novelists quit. Every new plot point raises more questions to be answered.
But I don’t want to quit.
BUT WAIT A MINUTE, DOESN’T THE BOOKSHELF BATTLE BLOG ONLY HAVE 3.5 READERS?
Yes. I’m also thinking maybe it’s possible to completely, totally, and utterly WIPE OUT all my above worries by plugging in the following joke somewhere into the season:
JAKE: Ms. Donnelly, I don’t get it. I’ve publicly written on the Bookshelf Battle Blog that I’m 95 years old, that I was once a famous lawman, and that I took a 60 year nap. Why doesn’t anyone I meet ever ask me about that?
DELILAH: Because no one ever reads the Bookshelf Q. Battle Blog, Mr. Hatcher. It only has 3.5 readers.
JAKE: Well, what do you know? I’m hiding in plain sight!
If I go that route – NO ONE bothers to read the BB Blog because it’s so obscure. Agnes never reads it. The female detective never reads it. They wonder why Jake looks like Jake Hatcher from the 40s and 50s, and Jake tells them he’s his grandson, and because the blog only has 3.5 readers, Jake’s secrets are safe.
Of course, that’ll only work for the first season, and then the joke will have to transfer to the PCM Blog and become that Pop Culture Mysteries only has 3.5 readers, or that anything BQB is involved in is cursed to only have 3.5 readers.
OK then. Thanks 3.5. Your feedback is appreciated.
Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
Copyright BQB all rights reserved 2015
Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 6)
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
“Ms. Donnelly,” Informant Zero said. “I have been so very intrigued by Mr. Battler’s blog since its inception that I decided I must get involved. And Mr. Hatcher, your reports have especially inspired me.”
“So you’re the one who read them.”
“What a life you have lived, Mr. Hatcher. From 1920 until present day, you have seen this world grow, 
change, go to war on a massive scale, taken on the criminal underworld of LA’s yesteryear and survived. Regrettably, you missed quite a bit during your extended nap, but that you’re in good enough condition to share your stories with the world now is amazing.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But if I wanted wind blown up my chassis I’d of skipped the trip and stood on an air vent.”
“This is not an enterprise I want to engage in for the rest of my life, Mr. Hatcher. One day, I’d like to see a Los Angeles where the rich and powerful do what is right because it is the right thing to do, and not because they’re afraid I’ll expose them if they don’t. Thus, this city needs a hero like you to clean it up and I’d like to do what I can to help.”
“I don’t do much cleaning these days, bub.”
“Then you are truly wasting your talents. Surely that will change as you get adjusted. But more importantly, Mr. Hatcher, I can’t help but wonder what this world would be like today had a man of your integrity not fallen asleep in 1955, but rather, had been allowed to continue performing feats of daring do.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the world would be a better place today had you been allowed to keep kicking criminal ass until you became an elderly man during the 1980’s, perhaps even the 90’s.”
“I think about that all the time,” I said.
“But as an tech expert, I know the mind of a blogger and I know it well,” Informant Zero said. “If Battler doesn’t eventually see an increase in readership, he will decide that his time would be better spent playing video games and allowing his ass to expand. He’ll abandon his blog, you, and your stories will never be shared, because good luck getting through the traditional publishing door.”
“Now just one moment,” Delilah said. “I doubt very much that Mr. Battler will abandon Mr. Hatcher and leave him without the answers he is searching for.”
“He probably won’t, at least not intentionally,” Informant Zero explained. “But what if I could help provide a new feature for the upcoming Pop Culture Mysteries spin-off blog, one that would drive up the World Renowned’ Poindexter’s readership?”
I shot Delilah an incredulous look.
“Spin-off blog? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Mr. Battler’s mentioned it on his blog a number of times. Do try to keep up.”
“Do I get any more money for this?”
“No,” Delilah said. “At least not according to your contract.”
“Mother of God,” I said. “It’s like the damn pinko commies won.”
“Mr. Hatcher,” Informant Zero said. “You write very long, detailed reports. Those are great for individuals who read as a pleasurable past time. But what about people on the go? Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers who only have 3.5 seconds to spare?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Tell them to screw?”
“No. That’s where I will come in. You continue to write your long reports. I’ll write short bursts, quick mini-mysteries, a pop culture question of the week with a short answer. Together, we’ll inspire Hollywood to plug up their plot holes and put out a better product. It’ll bring more hits, Battler’s writing career takes off and who knows, maybe if he gets to the point where he actually starts making money off of his Internet ventures, he’ll release you early from your 100 mystery commitment.”
“Now you’re starting to make sense,” I said.
Delilah was back to reading her note paper again.
“Mr. Zero,” she said. “To that end, Mr. Battler has expressed concern that your Pop Culture Mystery expertise may be lacking and has requested that I kick your tires, as it were, with three questions.”
More of that maniacal, ear crushing electric laughter.
“Proceed.”
And Now a Message from Alien Jones
Hello.
The Esteemed Brainy One enjoys the dog days of summer…pantsless.
Alien Jones, the Esteemed Brainy one here, reminding you to “Ask the Alien” a question and get plugs for your books and blogs in my answer right here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog, bookshelfbattle.com.
Help me get Bookshelf Q. Battler’s writing career up and running so my boss, the Mighty Potentate, will release me from this mission.
“But Alien Jones,” you ask. “What are the pros and cons of asking you, an alien, a question?”
PROS:
- You help your planet become one answer smarter.
- You help promote self published authors and strike another blow in the Mighty Potentate’s war on reality television. You thought reality tv was harmless, didn’t you? But now a reality tv star is running for president. Next thing you know it’s Secretary of State Kardashian. Don’t say you weren’t warned, 3.5
- You’ll get a free plug and maybe even gain a new reader or two. I’ve helped 20 indie authors already.
- The Mighty Potentate won’t vaporize me.
CONS:
Literally, nothing. Why are you humans so quick to look a gift alien in the mouth? A representative of a hyper intelligent species wants to share all the mysteries of the universe with you and you’re all still like, “Well, I dunno, let me kick the tires on this one and get back to you.”
So ask me, Alien Jones, a question today. You can ask away on twitter. Tweet @bookshelfbattle #AskTheAlien and our resident Blogger in Chief will forward your question to my ship.
Or, just leave it in the comments here.
“But Alien Jones, where else can I, a mere human, get in touch with you?”
If you can reach BQB on his other social media, go for it.
And finally, here’s the World Renowned Poindexter on Wattpad.
And finally, you might ask, “Alien Jones, how long will it take for you to answer my question?”
Normally, I try to answer questions in the order they’re asked. I used to bunch several questions into one column, but now I like to give each author a column all their own. That doesn’t mean that repeat askers aren’t welcome. They are. And if you’re one of the 3.5 people out there without a book to push, feel free to ask away. I like to help indie authors promote their works, but you don’t have to have something to promote in order to ask away.
Thank you, Earthlings. Continue your normal functions of duck faced selfies and scratching yourselves at inopportune times.
Alien Jones, signing off.
Pop Culture Mysteries – Behind the Scenes – To Swear or Not to Swear?
Hello 3.5 Readers.
Here’s an advance chapter of a story that will eventually find its way into this season of Pop Culture Mysteries.
Basically, it’s the 40’s. Hatcher’s an LAPD Detective. A gang of bank robbers with a hilarious name is headed for LA.
Stereotypically gruff and angry Capt. Thaddeus Talbot is their boss, and he swears like a sailor on steroids.
Only problem is, I’ve tried my best to keep this PG. I’m doing this selfishly, because I feel it will appeal to more readers (and hopefully, one day make me more money, ka ching!)
I feel like so far I’ve been kind of creative at making these stories interesting, salacious, and at times naughty without resorting to bad language.
I’m not against swearing. I’ve done it on this blog before. I just think once you drop some of the more serious swears, the story starts to become something very different. Thus, I try to limit to “shit” or lesser swears and keep the F-bombs and so on at bay.
So, here’s what I came up with for the Cap’n. I basically replace his naughty words with expletive deleted. Tell me what you think.
And while you’re at it, just give me your opinion:
Should there be serious swearing in Pop Culture Mysteries?
“Uh huh…Uh huh…yes…yes sir…uh huh.”
Even through a shut door, the voice of my old boss, Capt. Thaddeus Talbot, traveled.
Like a couple of kids waiting to get reamed out by the school principal, my partner, Mickey Finn, and I sat on a bench not far from the desk of the good captain’s secretary, Ms. Connie Connors.
Connie had a certain understated beauty about her. She was a looker, to be sure, but she wasn’t trying to be noticed.
Capt. Talbot
She was a brunette and wore a simple green dress with a floral print, always carrying herself all nice and professional like.
Meanwhile, Mickey always wore a white suit, trying to pass himself off like he was some kind of hot shot ladies man. He pulled a handle out of his pocket, clicked the switch, but instead of a blade, a comb popped out. He ran it through a pompadour that rose several inches off the surface of his cranium.
“Think he’s mad?” I asked.
I heard our fearless leader slam his phone down.
“CONNIE!!!”
“Does that answer your question?” Connie asked me, and then in a sweeter tone, “Yes, Captain?!”
“Are those lazy expletive deleted sons of expletive deleted out there?”
“Yes, they are, sir!”
“Send them in!”
“Right away sir!”
“And get me some coffee, will ya’?!”
Yes, readers. Back in those days, you could just bellow out demands for subordinates to fetch you coffee and human resources was powerless to stop you. Come to think of it, I don’t think we even had an HR person. Just an old lady who handled the payroll.
“Of course, sir!”
Mickey and I stood up.
“Good luck boys.”
“Thanks Con,” I said.
Mickey and I headed into the boss’ office. It was always messy. Papers and clutter strewn everywhere. Oh, and I can’t forget the massive bass mounted on the wall, the captain’s pride and joy.
“Shut the door.”
I did and we each took a seat in front of the captain’s desk.
“Hatcher and Finn. Two disgusting, oversized boils on my ass that I can’t squeeze the puss out of for the life of me.”
“Good to see you too, Cap,” I said.
“I just got off the phone with the mayor…”
Here it comes. Under Capt. Talbot’s leadership, Mickey and I plus four other guys were part of the LAPD’s special operations unit. Compared to modern assault tactics, there wasn’t anything all that special about it. We kicked down the doors that everyone else was afraid too, that’s about it.
There was a chain of command and really, the Mayor should have been lodging his complaints with the Chief of Police, but His Honor was a particularly corrupt degenerate and just called Captain Talbot whenever he had a bee in his bonnet, as though we were somehow his personal goon squad.
It was a source of great gastrointestinal discomfort for the boss.
Talbot was a tall drink of water and lanky too. Built like Frankenstein and his face was just as pretty. He was a tough old bastard and we’d often bond over how many Germans we sent into the afterlife during the wars we served in, him WWI and me WWII, respectively.
He grabbed his stomach.
“Goddamnit, my labonza.”
“Ulcer again, sir?” I asked.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Connie came in with a coffee mug and set it on the captain’s desk.
“Thank you sweetheart.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Connie gave me a peak to make sure I was still alive before heading to her desk.
“Jesus Christ,” Talbot said. “His Honor just shoved his head so far up my ass that I can actually taste his Brylcreem.”
Mickey, who’d done little more than stare at his shiny shoes the entire time, laughed.
“You think that’s funny, Finn, you no good, two-bit Irish expletive deleted sucker?”
By now, I should inform you that the good captain had quite a mouth on him. So bad that it could make a longshoreman cover his ears. It was the type of mouth that Ma Hatcher would have washed out with soap.
Also, and I hate to admit it, but he was a racist. And a sexist. Most people were back then. You have no idea how progressive I was for my time.
“No sir.”
“The Dapper Dandies,” Capt. Talbot said. “Those happy go lucky sons of motherless expletive deleted…”
It’s not easy complying with Bookshelf Q. Battler’s request to keep these tales PG, especially when Thaddeus Talbot is involved.
“…they just hit San Diego. Do you know what that means?”
“Chula Vista’s screwed,” Mickey said.
“Finn, I swear to Christ I’m going to leap over this desk and strangle the shit out of you if you don’t shut the expletive deleted up.”
“Sorry boss.”
“LA is next!” Capt. Talbot said. “The Mayor’s sure of it. Washington, D.C’s already sent out some G-Men to take everything over.”
The captain took a swig of his coffee and winced, grabbing his side again.
“St. Christopher’s tits, expletive deleted on your Aunt Edna’s ass!”
My old boss was a virtual Rembrandt of obscenity.
“Cap,” I said. “I hear coffee’s not good for an ulcer…
“Are you a goddamn doctor, Hatcher?”
“No.”
“Did I ask for your expletive deleted opinion?”
“No sir.”
“Then you know where to stick it.”
“Up my ass, sir.”
Talbot slammed his fist down on the desk.
“Expletive deleted! Those FBI expletive deleted suckers are going to waltz right in here like they own the joint, take everything over, and we’re just going to be left sitting around in a circle jerk with our dicks in our hands.”
“Typical Tuesday,” Finn said.
The captain pointed a finger at Mickey, reminding him to clam up.
“We need every man we can get,” Capt. Talbot said. “We need to grab every uniform, every detective, hell, every goddamn meter maid we can get our hands on, divy them up, and post a unit outside every bank in the city limits!”
“Boss,” I said. “No offense, but all that’ll do is scare these scumbags off. If you really want to do them in, we need to set a trap.”
The captain shook his head.
“Hatcher.
“Sir?”
“That is, by far, the dumbest expletive deleted idea I have ever heard in my entire expletive deleted life. I always thought you were the brains of this unit but now you’ve convinced me you’re expletive deleted dumber than Finn. Shoot yourself in the head so I don’t have to look at your stupid face anymore.”
The door opened a crack and Connie poked her nose in.
“Captain?”
“Connie, do you mind? Men are talking here.”
Yeah. People used to say stuff like that too.
“There’s some men here to see you, sir.”
“Tell them to go expletive deleted themselves.”
Connie opened the door all the way. Behind her, there were at least a dozen FBI agents, suits all starched and neatly pressed, not a hair out of place.
And leading the pack?
Noneother than FBI Director and notorious lawman J. Edgar Hoover and Assistant Director Clyde Tolson.
“If it’s all the same, I think I’ll let you tell them that, boss.”
Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 5)
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
“A question for you, my guests,” Informant Zero said. “What is the greediest animal in the world?”
I wasn’t amused.
“I’m not one for riddles, Jack.”
“Are you, Ms. Donnelly?”
“I’d wager it’s man.”
More smoke blew out of the shadowy orifice.
“And you’d be correct. As the Native Americans have said, man has a hole in his heart, a deep hunger that can never be filled.”
I checked my pocket watch. This guy was going to go on and on.
“Los Angeles has the single largest collection of celebrities in the world,” Informant Zero said. “We have men and women who are magnificent to look at, in peak physical condition, and they get paid obscene amounts of money to play make believe. I’ll admit that acting takes skill and training. However, let’s be honest. They’re not digging ditches, or breaking a sweat, or worried about bills like the average citizen is.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” I said.
“One would think that an individual who is blessed enough to sniff the rarified air of fame and fortune would be content, but as you witnessed on your way to me, that is not the case. No matter how much man obtains, he always, without fail, wants more. Though the general assumption is that celebrities must be happy because they live lifestyles that are far above the norm, the truth is that most famous people are woefully unhappy.”
“I’ve seen more than a few folks get to the top of the world only to fall off it,” I said. “I’m one of them.”
“Yes, Jersey Jabber,” Informant Zero said, a mocking note to my failed boxing career, which came to an end when I took a dive.
This guy knew everything about me. Makes sense, since as he mentioned, he was one of Bookshelf Q. Battler’s 3.5 readers.
“Sometimes the hunger that drives man can be good, such as when Mozart composes a symphony or Picasso paints a canvas. Both men made their art in search of society’s approval, but they also gave the world the gift of their talent as well.”
I sat back in my chair, locked my fingers behind my head and yawned.
“More often, the hunger causes man to implode, such as when you turn on the news to learn about the latest actor or musician to become wrapped up in a scandal. That hunger is why being a famous actress wasn’t enough for Lindsey Lohan. It’s why she experienced her infamous battles with drugs and alcohol. Even Bill Clinton, the former president, engaged in transgressions with an intern. Even the highest office in the free world couldn’t satiate him.”
“Get outta’ town,” I said. “There was a president who got some action on the side? Why don’t you tell me these things, Ms. Donnelly?”
“It was two presidents ago, Mr. Hatcher. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Informant Zero switched gears.
“What is the most valuable form of currency?”
Delilah and I looked at each other. We had nothing.
“Information,” Informant Zero said. “In today’s world, information is traded, bought and sold like commodities on the open market at a breakneck pace. Our celebrities unsatisfiable hunger to fill their bottomless hearts causes them to engage in all manner of transgressions.”
“Like that fella in the cowboy hat who has short people cover him in cottage cheese?”
“Like him. And that is where I come in. My vast network of spies feed me a never ending flow of information of what’s happening in this town at all times. More often than not, I know something is going to happen even before it happens.”
“Gotta say then, Jack, its odd that the group of famous perverts upstairs would allow you to set up shop here.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Hatcher. It is I who allow them to set up shop here. This is my establishment.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“The actions you saw upstairs are tame compared to what truly goes on behind closed doors in the City of Angels. Mere foolishness and nothing at all I’m concerned about,” Informant Zero said. “There are actions that certain famous individuals who shall remain nameless are engaged in that, if you were to hear about them, you’d never watch a movie or listen to a song ever again.”
“Worse than the cottage cheese thing?” I asked.
“A million times worse,” Informant Zero said. “And that’s where I come in. For a price, I can bury a brewing scandal and keep it away from the public. I can bury a celebrity’s bad information by trading on information I’ve stockpiled about the misdeeds of various politicians, government officials, journalists, and business executives.”
“Blackmail for a clean sweep?” I asked.
“Indeed.”
I started to get up.
“Ms. Donnelly I don’t think we want to be involved with this sort of character.”
“Before you make up your mind,” Informant Zero said. “Know that I have accomplished more good than anyone else could have with such an endeavor. “I have never used my powers to cover up illegal activity, only actions that would provide great embarrassment and humiliation for the perpetrator.”
“I repeat, ‘worse than the cottage cheese thing?'”
“Name redacted’s fondness of cottage cheese thing has been widely reported in the trades and gossip rags, Mr. Hatcher. The public doesn’t care one iota. His quote per film is higher than ever. The world has a higher level of tolerance for depravity than it did in your day. The actions engaged in upstairs, though questionable, would barely register a blip on the public’s radar compared with the inappropriateness I’ve helped the powerful hide.”
“So you run a one stop shop for entitled assbags,” I said. “They come here, they lather themselves up in dairy products, get their jollies off, and if they need to, come ask you to take the heat off of them for something they did that’s even WORSE than the freakshow going on upstairs?”
“That’s it in a nutshell,” Informant Zero said. “However, I also use the information I obtain for good. I have provided law enforcement agencies with information that has cracked troublesome cases and put bad people away. I have worked with the press to expose charlatans, frauds, and others who prey on the weakest among us. But alas, I cannot obtain and trade information that will help the world without the profits from helping celebrity transgressions disappear.”
“Mr. Zero,” Delilah said. “The question yet to be addressed is how can you be of service to Mr. Battler?”
Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero – (Part 4)
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
Ding.
The doors opened and we found ourselves in small, unfinished cement room, barely big enough to lie down in. A neon ceiling light bulb flickered on and off, providing spotty illumination.
A random goon in a suit with an expressionless face and sunglasses was waiting for us. He guarded a single door.
“Names, please.”
I looked behind me.
“There isn’t exactly a big line of people waiting to get in.”
An expressionless voice to go with the face.
“Names, please.”
Delilah intervened.
“Detective Jacob R. Hatcher, P.I. and Delilah K. Donnelly, Esquire. We have an appointment with Informant Zero.”
The goon’s eyes perused a single sheet of paper on a clip board.
“Hmmm. Yes. Your names are on the list.”
“Finally,” I said. “Can you let us in already?”
“One moment please,” the goon said as he looked toward the ceiling, where a speaker was mounted next to a video camera. “Boss?”
The broadcasted response came in the form of an artificial, demonic sounding robotic voice. It was low, deep and menacing, the stuff that nightmares are made of. It filled the room and echoed off the walls.
“Good evening Mr. Hatcher. Ms. Donnelly.”
“Informant Zero?” Delilah asked.
“Indeed. I apologize for the cloak and dagger treatment, but it is necessary to ensure my safety. If you’ll indulge me, Ms. Donnelly, I’ll ask the final question our mutual contact provided you.”
“Of course.”
“Why…”
He really leaned into that “why.”
“Why…did the swallow wear a sweater?”
Delilah broke out the note again.
“Because,” she read. “It’s very chilly this time of year in Colorado.”
Informant Zero was not impressed.
“Shoot them.”
I drew Betsy and had her pointed at the chump before he could get his hand on his automatic.
“WAIT!” Delilah cried.
It was the loudest I’d ever heard her speak before.
“Capistrano! Because it’s very chilly this time of year in Capistrano!”
There was a pause.
“You may enter,” Informant Zero said.
“Quite a blunder, Ms. Donnelly,” I said.
I gave her a hard time but in truth, it was the first mistake I ever witnessed her make as well.
“It’s not my fault the contact’s writing is atrocious.”
“Personal responsibility, Ms. Donnelly. Personal responsibility.”
“My man will take Betsy, Mr. Hatcher.”
Interesting. He knew my revolver’s name.
I took my finger off the trigger and forked her over.
“I’m going to need her back.”
The goon nodded.
“And your cell phones, please.” Informant Zero said.
Delilah handed hers over. I followed.
“That you can keep for all I care.”
The goon ran a metal wand up and down my body.
“What the hell is that thing?” I asked. “Some kind of weird sex toy?”
“Metal detector,” the goon said as he ran the wand over Delilah. “It finds hidden weapons.”
“Better check her twice then, Jack. She’s packing some serious heat.”
Delilah shook her head. I assumed she was once again thinking, “not the right time.”
The lady lawyer handed over her clutch and all of our items were secured in a lock box.
The door buzzed and we were in.
It was a small, dimly lit office. Sitting at the desk was a shadowy figure with a hood pulled down low over his head. The lighting was such that it was impossible to make out his face.
“Please be seated.”
He was still using the voice changer.
“Ms. Donnelly, rumors of your beauty do not do you justice.”
A courteous “thank you” was Ms. Donnelly’s reply.
“And Mr. Hatcher, your appearance is just as refined and ruggedly handsome as described in the tales on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.”
I looked over to my blonde confidant.
“Is this another one of those generation gap things I don’t get? Do men just hit on other men at random now and I’m expected to nod and smile politely?”
Informant Zero laughed. Fun fact. Robotic voice changed laughter nearly pops your eardrums. Delilah and I both reached for our ears.
“No, no, Mr. Hatcher. I assure you my interest here is strictly of a business nature.”
“Yes,” Delilah said. “I must say, Mr. Battler was quite intrigued by your proposal.”
Battler was in on this? Why was I always the last to know about these things?
“As he should be,” Informant Zero said.
A cloud of smoke emerged from the shadow man’s facial area and I could see the feint red glow of a cigarette grow brighter as he inhaled again.
“I have the power to grow his website’s reader count far beyond a paltry 3.5, though that’s not an offer I’d make to just anyone.”
Copyright (c) 2015. Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.
Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
True Detective -Season 2 Finale – TV Review by Special Guest Jake Hatcher
By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye
True Dick
The name’s Hatcher. Jake Hatcher. I’m a gumshoe. A sleuth. A shamus. A private dick.
And as of late, a coerced scribe for Bookshelf Q. Battler’s joke of a blog.
Not to put my employer down, but I’ve seen milk cartons with a higher readership.
Let’s take a minute and shoot the bull about True Detective. The second second season just wrapped up on HBO and there were more twists than a road designed by a blind man.
I’m required to warn you this review has more SPOILERS that you can shake a stick at.
Trailer – True Detective – HBO
Like most capers, it all begins with a murder.
The City of Vinci. It’s a factory town. Lot of big business, but only a handful of people actually live there. That means the cops and the local government pretty much act with impunity, free to wrangle their devious deals without any oversight.
And like most mysteries, this story begins with a murder. The city manager, a real pervert’s pervert, is put on ice. A special task force is put together to figure out the whodunnit.
It includes:
- Rachel McAdams as Ani Bezzerides – Hubba hubba. Even though they try to ugly her up so she looks like a real downtrodden broad, she still makes this gumshoe’s ticker skip a beat. Hell, I still haven’t stopped thinking about how this dame wore the hell out of that dress in Southpaw. Bezzerides’ pops ran some hippy dippy commune and growing up on it made for a tough life.
- Tayler Kitsch as Paul Woodrugh – A highway patrolman who takes a bad rap when he pulls over a speeder. Turns out its some floozy actress who puts the frame job on him. She makes a false claim that he tried to get the goodies just to get out of trouble because she’s had one too many run ins with the law before. His bosses put him on the special detail so he can lay low for awhile, but the case allows him to do anything but.
- Colin Farrell as Ray Velcoro – a real mean so and so, a drunk bastard to boot. Beats up people at the drop of a hat. I kinda liked him. (Well, except for the corruption part.) Ray’s wife was raped years ago an he turned to mobster Frank Semyon to hand over the perpetrator. Unfortunately, Ray pays for that info with his soul as he ends up becoming Frank’s lapdog for the rest of his life, using his position to further Frank’s criminal interests on account of Frank now having something to hold over Ray’s head.
Frank, played by Vince Vaughn, is a crooked club and casino owner whose duked his way out to the top of the underworld ranks. He’s experienced success late in life and like most folks who’ve had that happen, it’s hard for him to be happy about it. He’s bitter that it took so long and his worst fears are met when he discovers that the city manager had been looting all his money behind his back. It’s up to Frank to find out who the manager was working with.
I’m a straight arrow when it comes to the letter of the law, so I don’t care for it when a bad guy is glorified. However, Vaughn steals the show and the writers try to get the point across that sometimes folks like Frank, born into bad circumstances, see their only way to the top as being a life of crime.
To the show’s credit, it’s also made clear that Frank could walk away at any time and leave the degenerate life behind. His wife Jordan, aka Kelly Reilly, begs him to take the money they have left, forget about revenge, and call it quits, but Frank just can’t do it.
I can relate. My third ex-wife, Connie, often tried to talk me out of dropping the gumshoe game. She wanted to move to the sticks and start a bed and breakfast. I came up with a million reasons why that wasn’t feasible but the real one is that I’d of been bored out of my mind. Sometimes you get to the point where you’ve pummeled so many criminals that you don’t know what you’d do without another one to smack around.
But I digress.
Overall, it was a decent program with a lot of action and intrigue. Also, there’s the occasional bare set of bosoms. It’s not like I try to notice things like that, but I can’t help it. I’m a detective. I notice every detail. No matter how big.
One criticism might be that the plot is a bit convoluted. I watched the whole thing and had to stand on my head and spin before it all made sense. You’ve got land deals, murder, a cold case from 1992, some impropriety in Afghanistan, sometimes it all ties together, though you need a flowchart and a slide rule to figure it all out.
Maybe that’s director Nic Pizzolato’s point. Sometimes the answers to mysteries aren’t handed over all wrapped with a nice shiny red bow.
Word on the street is there have been some complaints that this season wasn’t as good as the last. To that, I’d point out that the idea is that each season rolls with a new group of detectives in a different locale. Thus, each season is like watching a whole new extended movie, so it’s hard to compare one film to another. Just because you really like one movie, aka season one, doesn’t mean the second movie, aka season two was terrible.
They were just different.
Ahh, Rachel McAdams. What a foxy broad.
Jake Hatcher is the Bookshelf Battle Blog’s Pop Culture Detective, sworn to solve 100 pop culture mysteries. Sometimes he even shares his own tales of daring do in LA’s seedy underworld. If you have a pop culture question, put Jake on the case. Tweet questions to @bookshelfbattle or leave them in the comments.
Pop Culture Mysteries: Informant Zero (Part 3)
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…
AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…
After leading us through a door and down a dark hallway, the cowboy screeched his Segway to a halt in front of an elevator.
He pushed the down button.
“Here, buckaroos, is where I leave you.”
“OK then,” I said. “Happy trails, pardnah.'”
“Before I go…the rules.”
“The rules!” the cowboy repeated loudly. “You’ll follow them to the letter if you don’t want to get thrown out of here. Rule Number One. Do not ask Informant Zero his name. If he wanted you to know, he wouldn’t refer to himself as Informant Zero.”
“Makes sense.”
“Rule Number Two. Do not touch Informant Zero in any way, shape, or form.”
“But I like touching shadowy underworld characters,” I said. “It’s a condition. I can’t help it.”
Delilah tugged on my sleeve. “Now is not the time, Mr. Hatcher.”
The cowboy squinted at me, attempting to discern whether or not I was joking. Obviously I was, but he let it go.
“Rule Number Three, do not remove Informant Zero’s disguise. He takes a number of precautions to hide himself from the world, and he needs to keep it that way.”
“Kinda redundant, Jack,” I said. “Touching him would be required to reveal him. You could have stopped at number two.”
“NO, YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED AT NUMBER TWO!!!”
This guy was like a ticking time bomb, the slightest provocation set him off.
His comeback didn’t even make sense, but I didn’t want to rile him up any further.
“We like Informant Zero,” the cowboy said. “We want to keep him around. People are only allowed to conduct business with him when they follow the rules, capiche?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to…”
Another tug on my sleeve from Delilah.
“We capiche,” she assured our guide. “We very much capiche, thank you Mr. Redacted.”
“All right then,” the cowboy said as the elevator dinged. “As long as you kemo sabes capiche.”
The doors opened and we stepped inside.
“Enjoy your visit and tell old IZ I said hello.”
Just before the doors closed, I snuck in a, “Go suck some cottage cheese ya’ sick bastard.”
And just before our descent, I heard a fist pound the metal doors, followed by an, “OW!!! SON OF A…”
“Mr. Hatcher, that was quite uncalled for.”
“I’m sorry Ms. Donnelly. I just didn’t like the cut of his jib.”
“Well you’re going to have to get used to jibs of all different shapes and sizes if you’re going to make it in this world. The days when everyone marches to the tune of the same drummer are long gone.”
“Tell me about it.”
Like a trip to Veracruz, it was a long ride.
As we continued to plummet deep below the Earth’s surface, Delilah piped up again.
“Mr. Hatcher, were the olden days really that good?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Everyone foisted their personal beliefs on you and threatened to ruin you if you didn’t comply.”
“So why are you in such a hurry to get away from the present?”
I didn’t skip a beat.
“Because everyone foists their personal beliefs on me and threatens to ruin me if I don’t comply.”
Bookshelf Battle 