…is going to attend Hogwart’s in a new spinoff of the Harry Potter series. What say you, 3.5?
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Pop Culture Mysteries: Behind the Scenes – What Do You Think About Informant Zero?
Hey 3.5 Readers.
I’m looking for a better IZ pic but this will be him for now.
Another PCM Behind the Scenes, where I seek the advice of the 3.5 in writing Jake’s life.
So…Informant Zero.
What does everyone think of him as a character?
Here’s the lowdown of why I created him:
- Originally, PCM was just supposed to be a fun, quick column. I’d ask Jake, “Hey Jake, in the movie X, why did Y happen?
- Then Jake would respond with a quick, “blah blah blah.”
- But then imagination took over and I developed this long sweeping backstory that takes us through Jake’s past and his present with an ongoing hanging question of why did Jake fall asleep for 60 years? (And eventually as the story progresses, why are all his past friends, enemies showing up in the present day?)
- Therefore, Informant Zero will take on the “quick column idea.”
- When the PCM site starts up, I’ll still give Jake “mysteries.” And he’ll go with the formula.
What’s the formula?
- Jake’s doing something.
- Delilah delivers him a mystery.
- They banter. Jake wants her. Delilah rebuffs him.
- Jake says “Oh this mystery reminds me of the time when….”
- Jake recalls his adventure.
- People who enjoy reading the adventures will hopefully have fun. People who just wanted to know “Why X happened in Y movie” might get bored.
- But then at the end Jake will offer his two cents as to why x happened in y movie or whatever the original PCM question was.
So basically, Informant Zero will just provide that quick Pop Culture Q and A. A Q is asked and he gets right to the A without a big story in between.
But what do you think of him as a character?
I really enjoyed writing the parts about the “Anything Goes Club,” especially the first part where Jake and Delilah have to navigate past all sorts of debauchery.
Thoughts:
- I wrote the part about the “Anything Goes Club” because I just enjoyed the absurdism and found the idea of a secret club where celebrities go to do whatever they want and have wild, out of control parties was funny.
- And then I put Informant Zero’s secret lair in the basement of that club.
- But wait, if Informant Zero is “a shadowy information broker” who collects and trades info about celebrities, then why would the celebrities party at a club where his office is located?
- Good question. I realized that and tried to write my way around it. I tried to explain it. Let me know if the explanation makes sense.
THE EXPLANATION:
- Informant Zero uses his info gathering powers for good, not evil. He’s not out to actively embarrass celebrities and/or the rich and influential, but will if he learns of some injustice afoot and needs to lean on someone with the power to change a bad situation into a good one.
- He takes money from celebrities to use his powers to cover up their scandalous behaviors, ergo they like him and party at his club.
- However, he’d never cover up a crime, just embarrassing scandals.
MAYBE IZ shouldn’t own the club?
All the debauchery described in part one is intended to be funny and more or less you could write it off, but then note there is a guy serving drugs at a bar, and that part was mainly added just so that there could be a joke where he rattles off a list of awful, hardcore drugs and then adds “Flintstone’s Vitamins” at the end.
Just random silliness, basically.
But then it hit me – If IZ owns the club, then he’s a drug dealer! And we can’t have drug dealers working for BQB’s PCM spin off blog!
What would the 3.5 readers think?
So this will definitely need a rewrite.
Possibilities:
- IZ doesn’t own the Anything Goes club. The celebrities just give him sanctuary there because they appreciate his coverup skills for their minor infractions. He ignores their general debauchery, but does get involved when he learns of a crime.
- Seperate IZ from the Anything Goes Club entirely. IZ works somewhere else. Think of another mystery entirely in which Jake investigates the Anything Goes Club or has to visit there in the course of an investigation, because the scenes themselves are too funny to lose.
BOTTOMLINE:
IZ isn’t going to become that involved in the story. His main function is to do what Jake was originally going to do, namely a quick Q and A about pop culture. Occasionally, IZ might toss Jake a mystery or give him an assist with some info for a case he’s working on.
So it’s just a matter of coming up with an origin story.
Admittedly, a guy who collects info on celebrities with an office in a private celebrity depravity club is kind of problematic so I’ll have to figure this one out.
ALSO:
In PCM, BQB is already kind of the shadowy figure.
On the Bookshelf Battle Blog, BQB openly admits he’s a nerd from East Random Town, USA who by day works at Beige Corp and by night pursues his dreams of becoming a writer.
But in PCM, BQB is kind of like Charlie from Charlie’s Angels.
If you’ve never seen Charlie’s Angels, the angels were three hot 70’s women who worked for Detective Charlie. They never actually saw Charlie. When Charlie had a case for the angels, they’d meet with Bosley, Charlie’s assistant, and Charlie would talk to the angels through an intercom.
Mine’s different. I, BQB, refuse to meet with Jake as I fear he’d just beat me senseless until I explain how he fell asleep in 1955 and woke up in 2014 and I’m withholding that info until he’s filed 100 PCM reports (in the hopes this will raise my readership past 3.5)
So I dispatch my attorney, Delilah, to deliver the mysteries to Jake. Jake, in theory, could lean on Delilah to spill the beans, but he has the hots for her so doesn’t.
In other words, we have shadowy figure BQB and then we’d have a second shadowy figure, Informant Zero.
I don’t know. Once IZ’s back story is set up he really won’t have much of a function than to write a quick, short weekly column, barely 500 words just providing quick explanations about PCM questions.
Redacted Celebrity Names
In the story, Jake’s new to the present, so he kind of recognizes the celebrities from TV, but doesn’t know them by name. Delilah does recognize them, but when she refers to them, it comes up in the story as “Name Redacted.”
Because obviously, if Jake’s invited to a private club to conduct business, he wouldn’t blurt out the name of a celebrity he saw in his report to the 3.5 readers.
However, that cowboy with a cottage cheese problem – assuming there’s a point where I see this project is worth it to continue, I envision a season where Jake gets a job as a babysitter/security guard for a rambunctious actor. Jake will continue to solve PCM’s but will do so out of the actor’s house where he’s staying instead of at his office above Ms. Tsang’s restaurant. There will be a side story where Jake’s constantly bailing the actor out of trouble. (Jake needs some kind of paying job above $5 a PCM case and can’t sponge off Ms. Tsang forever.)
So I’m thinking maybe this cowboy could become that actor (he’s not a cowboy he just likes to wear that hat while Czech dwarves…well, you can read the rest.
I’m not sure how to reconcile that. Eventually, that celeb will have to be named. Maybe when the time comes Jake can be like, “remember that cowboy from a previous post, well turns out I’m working for him now…”
Or forget the cowboy. I could just invent a new, equally rambunctious actor. There are probably a bunch of them.
What say you, 3.5?
And now…
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.
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.”
Future Ideas for Pop Culture Mysteries
Happy Sunday, 3.5 Readers.
Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB’s exceptionally attractive henchwoman…er, attorney.
Here’s the deal.
In my personal life, I’m busier than a porcupine at a pin cushion convention.
If I get an hour a day to write, I consider myself lucky.
That’s why blogging works for me. Every day, a short daily post, and then I move on.
That’s also why Jake, Ms. Donnelly and I are doing so well with Pop Culture Mysteries. Ms. Donnelly delivers, Jake reports, I post. Who could ask for anything more?
Here’s some ideas for the future. Since you’re my 3.5 readers, you tell me if any, all, or none of these are appealing:
#1 – A Spin-Off Site
I’m mulling over the possibility of creating a spin-off Pop Culture Mysteries site. Already secured the site and everything. It’d be all Jake all the time.
PRO: Jake gets his own digs. More Internet presence for the Bookshelf Battle goodness.
CON: It’s been an uphill battle in the snow with no shoes on to get people to feast their peepers on this site. The idea of splitting visits and views among two sites rather than just bring them all here worries me.
But if I did create a spin-off site:
#2 – Both Sites Work Together
As said above, I have less free time than a cat a yarn ball factory.
Jake and I would set up the Pop Culture Mystery posts here on bookshelfbattle.com. You, the 3.5 readers, would give us advice, feedback, criticism, ideas to make them better.
In fact, as the gumshoe and I consider directions the various plot lines of the series will take in the future, we can already see some things we’d like to change in what’s been posted so far.
(Jake and I have still yet to meet in person. Ms. Donnelly handles all our correspondence, of course.)
Am I going to fully rely on you 3.5 readers? No. In the future, I hope to retain the help of an editor. But, for those interested in self-publishing, this is a chance to see how the sausage is made.
The posts on bookshelfbattle.com would essentially be rough drafts.
After Jake and I get the time to flush them out (with your feedback), I’d post the polished posts on the Pop Culture Mysteries spin-off site to be preserved for the ages.
Which brings us to:
#3 – Seasons, Arcs and Books
Multiple posts would be put together on the spin-off site as seasons. Each season would follow Hatcher through different story arcs.
And each season would end a book that would be sold on Amazon (perhaps even other book distribution platforms in the future).
For example, we’re in season one right now. It’s an introductory season where we are learning who the characters are. I hope to end it with… Mr. Devil Man (read a sneak peak of the first chapter here).
The books would be stand-alone, meaning a) you could buy it, read it, and understand it without ever having read the site posts but b) hopefully book readers would enjoy it enough that they’d go in search of more Bookshelf Battle goodness by visiting the sites (this one and the spin-off), thus increasing platform traffic.
I foresee a lot of audience interactivity:
- Self-publishing nerds advise Jake and I here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
- Mystery nerds enjoy Jake’s stories on the spin-off blog
- Book nerds enjoy Jake’s books sold on Amazon.
- I enjoy the profits because Ms. Donnelly is one hell of a lawyer and Jake doesn’t bother to read the fine print.
Speaking of…
#4 – Putting Money Into This
Relax. I’m talking about my money.
I don’t want to knock self-publishers, writers and other artists who rattle their electronic tin cup to ask for donations.
Some people have accomplished great deeds doing that. The Veronica Mars and Super Troopers 2 campaigns being examples that come to mind.
Personally, I find it icky so I’m not going to do that.
I look at this as a business and if it’s to go forward I need to put some skin in the game. What does that mean? I don’t know.
Enlisting some editing help, character artwork, images etc.
In business, the best strategy is to put out based on what’s coming in.
In other words:
- You build a lemonade stand.
- Everyone on your street stops by. You make a second pitcher of lemonade.
- Everyone in your neighborhood comes over. You make a third pitcher.
- Everyone in town wants your delicious lemonade. You dump the stand and rent a storefront.
- People in the next town over drive all the way over just to sample your tasty lemonade. Time to invest in a second location.
- People just can’t get enough off that sweet yellow stuff (shut up, I’m talking about lemonade). You need to start selling franchise rights because…profit!
What you don’t want to do:
- You build a lemonade stand.
- Aunt Gertie says it’s the best lemonade she’s ever hand.
- You drain your bank account, take out a high-interest loan from a loan shark, and set up a bunch of lemonade stores on the hope that people will come only to be left with a bunch of empty stores, moldy unused lemons, and two broken legs. (Damn loan sharks).
That was my longwinded way of saying that the first season or two will look like they were produced on a modest budget, but if people like the work, I’d gladly put book proceeds towards making future seasons better.
The biggest criticism of self-publishing is that it often looks cheap. That’s somewhat understandable because these are often works produced by people on a budget, not big time studios with cash to burn.
But there’s a difference between cheap and crappy. It’s possible to put out respectable work on a budget.
Cheap doesn’t mean your work has to look like it was packaged by a bunch of carny folk.
Take The Simpsons. The first shorts that appeared on The Tracey Ullman Show were cheap to be sure, but they made people laugh and convinced FOX to dump some money into it. Here they are, still kicking after 26 years.
It’s all a carefully choreographed dance. I can’t put a ton of my own money into it now in the hopes it will pay off big time later. If it doesn’t, my bill collectors aren’t going to buy “sorry, I spent all the money on my private dick” as an excuse.
But the more eyes that end up on the sites and books, the more old BQB’s wallet can be pried open, even if moths will fly out.
#5 – Conclusions
All I’m really asking is:
- Does this strategy sound good or bad?
- How have Jake and I done on the series so far? Does it seem like something worth putting more work into?
As always, thanks for listening, 3.5 readers.
Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler.
All Rights Reserved.
Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
BQB and the Meaning of Life – Intro and Parts 1-5
Bookshelf Q. Battler.
Bookshelf Q. Battler, a Poindexter of World Renown
His 3.5 readers know him as a World Renowned Poindexter, Reviewer of Books, Movies and Assorted Cultural Happenings, Champion Yeti Fighter, and Blogger-in-Chief of the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
But few are aware that this gregarious geek has also discovered the answer to life’s most vexing question:
Why do they always forget to put the sauce in your bag when you buy fast food chicken nuggets?
Ooops. Wrong question. Here it is:
What is the meaning of life?
True understanding of mankind’s purpose doesn’t come easy. Behold, here’s how our illustrious hero’s dorktastic adventures began:
Intro – BQB explains why he wrote this story.
Tessa Fireswarm, one of the more unruly characters inhabiting BQB’s magic shelf.
Part 1 – A Toaster Pastry Too Far – As caretaker of a magic bookshelf where small versions literary characters come to life and fight over limited shelf space, BQB’s life isn’t easy. Most of his free time is spent keeping these pint sized protagonists from burning the Bookshelf Battle Compound down. Our tale begins when Young Adult Fiction Star Tessa Fireswarm wakes BQB up in the middle night by firing arrows at a copy of Tales of the Lost French Children. Unable to get back to sleep, BQB devours a lightning infused toaster pastry and croaks on the toilet whilst trying to expel it from his nether regions.
(And you thought that story you crumpled up and threw in your trash can was far fetched.)
Part 2 – Twenty-Three Skadoo – Our noble nerd finds himself in an afterlife speakeasy straight out of the 1930’s. In fact, a waitress who bears a striking resemblance to a beloved female celebrity from his generation who died too soon insists on keeping him soused to the gills so as to keep him from freaking out, as most newcomers to the afterlife tend to do. A refined British gentleman with balding hair and a codpiece takes a seat.
Part – 3 – A Place Between Heaven and Hell – William Shakespeare explains that he’s BQB’s spirit guide. We learn more aboutthe waitress.
Part 4 – God’s Waiting Room – The man upstairs puts famous dead celebrities on rotating shifts to hang out in an afterlife speakeasy, thus making people sound crazy when they tell their story after they’re allowed to return to the land of the living.
Part 5 – The Return Kiss – Bookshelf Q. Battler has a hard time thinking up anyone who’d miss him if he remained croaked. When he finally thinks of someone, the waitress sends him back with a smooch.
The Waitress Who Bears a Striking Resemblance to a Much Beloved Female Celebrity from Your Generation Who Died Too Soon (Who does she look like to you?)
Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.
Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
Attorney Donnelly notes that BQB’s magic bookshelf characters are meant for parody purposes (poking fun at literary characters both classic and modern.)
BQB and the Meaning of Life – Part 23 – I Object
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AND NOW BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER AND THE MEANING OF LIFE CONTINUES…
“Y’all better fasten your seat belts!” Happly yelled. “We’re almost to the drop point!”
Vicky fastened hers. Seeing I was in shock, she fastened mine around me. We were sitting together on one big bench in the middle of the plane.
“Listen!” I yelled. “There’s been a misunderstanding here!”
Kip Happly Enterprises. We’ll get you there…sort of.
“No, son!” Happly shouted back. “Like I said, there’s no landing!”
“Just take us back!” I screamed. “I’m not going to jump out of an airplane!”
“Oh Ed,” Vicky said as she patted my knee. “Stop being such a worry wart. Everything’s going to work out fine. It’ll be fun!”
“Get ready!” Happly shouted.
I looked out the window. We were over the island.
“Alright folks!” Happly yelled. “Time for us to part ways! Thank you for flying with Kip Happly Enterprises…”
“No!” I yelled. “Don’t!!! I OBJECT!”
“WHAT?” Happly asked.
“I OBJECT!”
“EJECT?!” Happly asked. “You got it, friend! ADIOS!”
Unbeknownst to us, Vicky and I had been sitting on top of a pair of cargo bay doors the entire time. Happly punched a button, the doors opened up, and my new friend and I found ourselves strapped to a bench, hurtling through the air at warp speed, screaming our heads off.
And then Bookshelf Q. Battler and Vicky died. That’s it. That’s how the story ends, with the main characters stone cold dead. Hope you enjoyed reading.
Oh wait, actually they’re still alive…find out what happens next time on BQB and the Meaning of Life.
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.
Pilot photo courtesy of a shutterstock.com image.
BQB and the Meaning of Life – Part 20 – Welcome to the Third World
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“Welcome to the Third World International Airport,” the announcer said. “We’d tell you what country you are in, but we don’t want to offend the 3.5 people reading this story.”
Inside the airport, Vicky and I walked through the hustle and bustle.
A boy ran up to me with a bundle of roses and yanked on my shirt tail.
“Mr. American sir!” the boy said. “Buy some flowers for your pretty wife!”
I looked at Vicky. She giggled. I grinned.
“She’s not my uh…OK kid. How much?”
“Five hundred US Dollars,” the boy said.
“Get outta’ here!”
“OK,” the boy said. “You drive a hard bargain. Five US dollars!”
“One US dollar!” I said.
“What?” the boy asked. “Your wife isn’t worth five dollars?”
A notorious skinflint, Bookshelf Q. Battler (BQB) was so smitten with Video Game Rack Fighter (VGRF) that he shelled out five, count em, five big ones for some posies. He really did. Moths flew out of his wallet and everything.
Damn it. Trapped by a little street vendor’s logic. I pulled a fiver out of my wallet and handed it to him. He gave the rose to Vicky.
“Why thank you, Ed,” Vicky said. “I’m flattered.”
We found a table and sat down.
“So,” Vicky said. “I told you I’m going to visit the Great Guru so I can ask him about the meaning of life. You never told me why you’re going to Pango-Tango.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, funny you mention it, I’m also trying to visit the Great Guru.”
Vicky’s beautiful eyes blossomed.
“You are?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you want to know the meaning of life too?” she asked.
I didn’t want to lie. But I didn’t want another Blandie on my hands either.
“My company,” I said. “Beige Corp. They sent me to uh…make a sales call. Yeah. That’s it. The Great Guru wants to by some beige products and accessories for his sanctuary.”
“Wow,” Vicky said. “Beige?”
“Yeah.”
“The Guru must have really boring taste.”
“Yeah.”
Vicky scratched her head.
“You know,” she said. “This might sound dumb, but I have no idea what to do now.”
“Me neither,” I said. “I just bought a ticket to “Somewhere in the Third World” because that’s the closest the airlines will take you to Pango-Tango.”
“Me too!” Vicky said. “Oh good! At least we’re both flying by the seat of our pants!”
“I was hoping there’d be a boat or a connecting flight or something once I
Seems trustworthy,
got here,” I said.
I felt a tapping on my shoulder. I turned around to find a goofy looking man wearing a brown leather bomber jacket. His eyes were covered by a pair of goggles.
“Did I hear you and your wife say you want to get to Pango-Tango?”
Will BQB and VGRF ever make it to Pango Tango? And do they really want to trust this wacko? More BQB and the meaning of life to come!
Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Nerds with flowers and wacky pilot images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.
Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blond – Part 3
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES: ENTER THE BLONDE
PART 1 – Detective Jake Hatcher arrives in his office to find a mysterious blonde dame…
PART 2 – …who seems to know an awful lot about our fearless private eye.
Attorney Delilah K. Donnelly, Examiner of Bookshelf Q. Battler’s Legal Briefs
(That’s not an inappropriate pun or anything, he really gives her a crap ton of paperwork.)
“I’m here to offer you a very lucrative deal, Mr. Hatcher.”
How many times had I heard those famous last words uttered to me by a she-devil in a skirt?
“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re going to tell me that you want to hire me to take incriminating photos of your good for nothing husband in the throes of passion with his cheap floozy secretary. Only you’re going to shoot them both before I arrive and when the cops show up, they’ll mistake me for the trigger man. While I’m getting outfitted for a pair of striped pajamas, you’ll be on your way to Barbados with a pile of your dead hubby’s cash. Whaddaya say, sweetheart? Am I warm?”
“You’re ice cold,” the dame said with a chuckle. “My goodness, you certainly are distrustful of the fairer sex.”
“I trust no one, ma’am,” I said. “Dames have just given me more reason not to.”
My uninvited guest puffed away on her filtered cigarette and gave me the old once over with her eyes, looking at me in much the same way a lion must look at a fat gazelle with a gimpy leg.
“I hope one day you’ll learn to trust me, Mr. Hatcher.”
“Doubtful,” I said. “Especially when you’re probably going to try to bat your pretty little eyelashes at me out of a mistaken belief that you can make me fall in love with you and dupe me into killing your husband because you’re too chicken to do it yourself? Did I figure out your fiendish scheme yet?”
“Some detective you are!” the lady said as she snapped off her right glove and stretched out a finely manicured hand, complete with red nails polished so brightly I was able to see my mug staring back at me in them.
“You failed to deduce that there’s no ring on my finger!”
I stared at that dainty hand and silently kicked myself on the inside for letting a clue slip past me. Maybe it was late, maybe it was the extra doses of Jack Daniels, but that gal had gotten one over on yours truly, and I didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
“Even so,” I said. “It’s been my experience that a woman with a body like yours is always up to no good and this palooka didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, see? I think you made a mistake in coming here, sister. The all-day sucker store is two blocks down.”
“You’re really something else, aren’t you Mr. Hatcher?” the dame asked. “My employer warned me about you.”
“Your employer?”
“Yes,” the woman said as she handed me a business card. It read:
Delilah K. Donnelly, Esq.
In-House Counsel for Bookshelf Q. Battler
Pop Culture Mysteries – Enter the Blond – Part 2
PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES – ENTER THE BLONDE:
PART 1 – Detective Jake Hatcher returns to his office to find a mysterious blonde dame sitting behind his desk.
That dame was all class, but a bit snooty – like an exceptionally attractive school marm.
Detective Hatcher prefers old school typing.
She read from the file of poop she’d scooped on me with all the enthusiasm of a professor giving a lecture on transcendental metaphysics.
“In 1920, you were born one Jacob Ronald Hatcher in Bayonne, New Jersey,” the dame said. “Parents Gus and Mitsy, a barber and a housewife, both solid citizens who never did you wrong, unlike your conniving brother Roscoe who…”
“Yeah do us all a favor a skip over Roscoe, lady,” I said.
“In 1938, you turned eighteen and moved to Hollywood, deluded by the misguided hope that your handsome face and macho physique would be more than enough to provide you with a career as a movie star…”
“People have done more with less,” I interrupted.
“Alas, like most newcomers to Tinseltown, you were turned away by every producer and found yourself on the streets,” the dame continued. “You made your living as a prize fighter, taking on all comers and throwing matches for a fee under the names of ‘Punchy McGee,’ ‘Take a Dive Dan,’ and ‘The Down for the Count Kid.’”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, it’s not my fault that was a rigged racket.”
“War broke out three years later and in your early twenties, you found yourself in Europe, fighting on the front lines,” the dame said, studying the file like it was the Old Testament. “I see you fought in D-Day and marched with Allied Forces all the way to Berlin.”
“You ‘aint just whistlin’ Dixie, ma’am.”
“There’s a notation here that you were involved in a special mission?” the dame asked.
I gulped my drink and poured another.
“That’s right.”
“Care to share?” she asked.
“Hitler,” I said. “I punched him in the face.”
The dame’s big blue eyes widened with shock. “Excuse me?”
Adolf Hitler – historians agree that the last words he heard before Detective Hatcher’s fist collided with his face were, “Sprachen zie punch?”
“I infiltrated a secret Nazi bunker and punched Adolf Hitler square in his stupid face,” I said. “Knocked the son of a bitch out colder than your demeanor.”
I could tell by the look on the dame’s face that she was impressed.
“You punched Adolf Hitler in the face?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Adolf Hitler…Der Fuhrer of the Third Reich?”
“That’s the one.”
“I thought he committed suicide,” the dame said.
“That’s what the powers that be want you to believe, ma’am,” I said. “Truth be told I delivered Hitler to General Eisenhower, who had Old Adolf hauled off by a bunch of G-Men to a secret government lab. They did all kinds of experiments on him. They wanted to see what made an evil lug like that tick in the hopes they could prevent another monstrous dictator from popping up ever again. Given the headlines these days, it doesn’t seem to me like they were very successful.”
“And you’re telling me this…why?”
“You asked,” I said. “I’m not a liar, ma’am. A lady asks me a question, I give her an honest answer. Mitsy Hatcher raised a gentleman, I’ll have you know.”
“But the dishonorable discharge?”
“The brass didn’t want the public to know about Operation Fuhrerpunschen and I was a loose end,” I said. “They booted me out on a bunch of trumped up charges that weren’t worth the paper that they were printed on. Ordered me to keep quiet but hell, all of those bums are long dead now so it’s not like there’s anything they can do to me.”
“I see,” the dame said, turning her attention back to the file. “You returned to LA in 1945 and joined the Los Angeles Police Department.”
“Seemed like a shot at a steady paycheck,” I said. “Didn’t realize it was an invite to every two-bit thug to declare war on me…and honest cops? They didn’t last long back then.”
“I’m not sure they last long now either, Mr. Hatcher,” the dame said as her sad lips curled up into a rare smile. “Now, after the incident vis a vis your wife’s infidelity with your partner, you quit the force and went out on your own as a detective for hire, is that right?”
“That’s the long and short of it, ma’am,’ I said. “But what gives with the twenty questions anyway? You writing a book or something?”
“No,” the dame replied. “I just like to make sure I know everything there is to know about a man before I hire him.”
“Speaking of,” I said as I looked at my watch. “It’s been longer than five minutes and you’ve yet to explain to me why you’re here.”
Why is this dame here? Find out in the next part of Pop Culture Mysteries: Enter the Blonde!
(Yeah, I know, we really need to fire the guy who writes these post titles).
Bookshelf Battle 