Pop Culture Mysteries | Bookshelf Battle

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES:

Part 1 Part 4

Part 2 Part 5

Part 3

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

Like a snow cone in my underpants, this case was growing colder and more uncomfortable by the minute.

I consider myself an expert marksman. You don’t have to take my word for it. Just ask any of the thousand plus Nazis I introduced to the undertaker. Those fellas won’t be goose stepping anywhere anytime soon.

Yet, after watching the infamous Han vs. Greedo scene, I was plum out of luck and more mixed up than a cat in a blender. (FYI Attorney Donnelly reminds readers to keep their cats out of their blenders.)

It was time to turn to the stack of research Agnes found for me. I had the old gal print it out because I hate staring at those beep boop machine screens. They’re creepy and like a trip to a discount gynecologist, they leave me feeling strained in more ways than one.

OBSERVATION # 1 – The Scene Has Changed Over the Years

When I was a boy in Bayonne, a movie came out once and that was it. Now, they’re re-released every so often. The motion picture people change it around a little bit, maybe draw a mustache on a fella or put a hat on a guy or something and bammo, they feel justified to over charge John Q. Public to take in a flick they’ve already dished the dough out to watch the first go around.

Here’s what on site on the Interwhatever had on the topic:

“To say “Han shot first” is to refer, often with distaste, to George Lucas’s changes to the original trilogy. Often cited by film purists, this phrase more specifically refers to the changes made to A New Hope Special Edition, in the scene involving the characters Han Solo and Greedo in the cantina. In the original version, after Greedo says “I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long time” (talking about killing Han), Han replies “Yes, I bet you have” and shoots Greedo under the table while Greedo was pointing a blaster at him (the phrase “Han Shot First” is thus misleading, since only Han shoots in the original version). In the special edition, Greedo shoots at Han and misses, without explanation, from point blank range, and then Han shoots him. Later, it was altered again to have Han and Greedo shooting at almost the same time (though Greedo still shoots first), with Greedo still missing from point blank range. With such a short time between each shot, it could be assumed that Han was already planning to shoot Greedo, rather than reacting to Greedo’s shot.”

“Han Shot First” – Wookieepedia, the Star Wars Wiki

Funny, if that’s the case, maybe my brain was tricked because I swore I saw/heard two shots in the 1977 version but then again, maybe that’s what I was expecting since the “Who shot first?” debate was emblazoned in my brain like a rancher’s brand in a steer’s rump roast.

OBSERVATION #2 – Han Shooting First is Important for Han’s Character Development

Any good guy can take a shot at a palooka who knows it’s coming but it takes a real ice cold so and so to wack a guy without fair warning.

That’s just not sportsmanlike.

But Han Solo isn’t your typical white hat. He’s an anti-hero. He’s a man who starts out as being in it for himself but later grows a conscience and devotes himself to the rebel cause.

Thus, for fans of this rogue ne’er-do-well, the idea that Han got a shot off before Greedo knew what hit him is appealing. Watering it down to make it look like Han gave the green guy a fighting chance is not.

OBSERVATION #3 – Lucas and Ford

George Lucas is the creator of this whole shebang, so you’d think his word would carry some weight.

Personally, I never trust a man who wears that much plaid.

As stated in one news story:

Lucas has insisted that the change was to clear up his original intent — which wasn’t to have Solo appear to be a “cold-blooded killer.” He told The Hollywood Reporter that the original version was not as cut and dried as fans remember. “I put a little wider shot in there that made it clear that Greedo is the one who shot first,” he said.

Reddit Asked Harrison Ford Who Shot First, The Washington Post, April 14, 2014

One might think the fans would go with what the man who made the films they love but then again, it’s been made clear to me through multiple sources that the character known as “Jar Jar Binks” caused Lucas’ credit with sci-fi buffs to take a swan dive into the deep end of the pool.

Further, that same article reports that when asked who shot first, Harrison Ford, the actor who played Solo, responded, “I don’t care.”

Not surprising. Agnes is a movie buff herself and she tells me Ford is a bit rough around the edges. Happens to all of us when we get older.

CONCLUSION: It doesn’t matter.

I hate to leave a case open-ended but this one is up for interpretation. If you want Han to be a stone cold killer who puts himself over basic rules of fairness, then you’re happy to think he plugged a hole in an alien, catching said alien unawares. You want Han to have shot first (and also to have been the only shooter).

If you want Han to be a respectable type, you’d prefer that he got a shot in after Greedo missed, or that he shot second.

Personally, I don’t like it when history is revised. We figure out who we are only by taking a good long look at where we came from, so if Solo’s the type of guy who’d sucker blast an unsuspecting alien, then so be it. No use sugar coating it.

Mr. Lucas did his fans a disservice with his edits, in this gumshoe’s opinion.

But let’s face it. My opinion plus five cents will get you a steaming cup of joe.

Races use words like “first” and “second.”

A gun battle is not your typical race.

Sure it’s a race to see who can squeeze off a precise, lethal shot first but first or second doesn’t really matter a whole hill of beans.

In this sleuth’s book, the dead guy left on the table lost and the guy who walked away won.

That’s all there is to it.

MOVIE DISCUSSED:

Star Wars

Originally released as “Star Wars” in 1977, later referred to as Episode IV: A New Hope once the prequels arrived.

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Do you have a Pop Culture Mystery? Put Hatcher on the case. Drop it in the comments on this site or tweet it to @bookshelfbattle #popculturemysteries.

Tagged amwriting, entertainment, greedo, han solo, Movies, mysteries, pop culture, Pop Culture Mysteries, popular culture, science, scifi, star wars, washington post, wookiepedia

Jun 26 2015

5 Comments

Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 5)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

PART 1 – Hatcher recalls old times.

PART 2 – Delilah pays our resident gumshoe a visit. She comes bearing gifts. (Actually, not really. BQB expects them to be returned with their original packaging intact.

PART 3 – A gentleman caller whisks Delilah off to a night at the opera. Hatcher wishes he could trade places with whoever this guy is.

PART 4 – Agnes the Librarian helps Hatcher with his technological illiteracy once again.

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

I was dumbstruck. It felt like that feeling you get when you find out your wife has been two-timing you with every yokel from here to Papa New Guinea. It was a combination of anger and confusion and I wasn’t sure which one was winning out.

“What the hell happened?” I asked old Agnes as she closed the movie player gadget.

BQB EDITORIAL NOTE: I’d say, “SPOILER ALERT” but really, if you haven’t seen Star Wars yet, I scoff at your nerd credentials. Back to Jake.

“The rebels won,” Agnes said. “Luke destroyed the Death Star.”

“With one shot?” I asked. “Unlikely.”

One shot my oily hide. I lost count of all the Nazis I had to shoot before I made a dent in the Third Reich and this kid in his bathrobe does it in one try?

Sure, and if you believe that, I’ve got a bridge I’d like to sell you at a reasonable price. Goes all the way to Brooklyn.

“So does Luke get to make whoopie with that space princess or what?” I asked.

Agnes looked at me like I’d just grown a second head.

“You really don’t know much about the world, do you?” Agnes asked.

“Oh, let me guess,” I said. “He tells her to hit the bricks because he doesn’t like those big buns on her head, right? Some fellas can be so vain.”

“I think I’ll just let you find out on your own when you watch the next one,” Agnes said as she handed me a flyer.

It read:

INTRODUCTION TO COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY

Wednesdays at 10 am

Computer Room C

Learn the basics of personal computing. Word processing, information management, surfing the Internet and more.

Refreshments served.

Librarian Agnes Abernathy, Instructor

“What’s all this then?” I asked. “If you’re selling something, I already gave at the office, see?”

“It’s a free class,” Agnes said. “It’s mostly filled by seniors who’ve never seen a computer before. I have to say I’ve never seen someone your age with such a lack of technical knowledge. You’d be my youngest student ever but I think you’d really benefit.”

“Sorry sister,” I said. “School’s out for this palooka. ‘Less learnin,’ more earnin,’ as my old man used to say.”

“There’s a free sandwich platter.”

“Sold,” I said without hesitation.

I was never one to turn down free grub.

I made my way back to my office. The details of Han Solo’s encounter with Greedo were fresh in my mind.

I jotted it all down. Here are my notes along with crime scene recreations I produced using Mr. Battler’s toys, er I mean his research products:

1) Solo’s in the Mos Eisley Cantina. That old timer, Obi Wan Kadoobie Whatever describes it as: a “wretched hive of scum and villainy.” Kind of reminds me of Mugsy’s joint, the Gilded Lilly.

2) Greedo’s an ugly mug, a green alien of some kind. Big blank eyes and a pair of horns on his head that look like they should be attached to a kid’s bicycle. He ‘aint winning any beauty contests any time soon.

3) He’s also a bounty hunter. Seems Han did some smuggling for Jabba the Hutt, a space gangster. Dropped the goods when he spotted the space authorities and now he Jabba wants compensation, so much that he’s put a price on Han’s head. Let me tell you, 3.5 readers, if there’s one position you don’t want to be in, it’s owing money to an organized crime boss.

4) Greedo’s a bounty hunter and pulls a pistol on Han. Han tells the galoot he’s got Jabba’s money. Greedo tells him to hand it over and maybe he’ll forget he saw him. I suppose degenerates are the same everywhere, even in outer space. None of them can be trusted.

Greedo pulls a piece on Han.

5) Han pulls a fake-out. He looks up and to the left while reaching down for his pistol with his right hand. A shrewd move. As an ex-boxer, I’m more than familiar with the “fake-left, jab right” routine. Make your opponent think your mind’s elsewhere then strike in a way he’d never expect.

The Fake Out (I need to retake this photo with Han looking to his left but you get the gist.)

6) Greedo tells Han maybe Jabba will only take the Millenium Falcon (Han’s ship). Han’s reply? “Over my dead body.” I like this fella’s moxie. I had an old caddy I felt the same way about.

7) GREEDO: That’s the idea. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.

HAN: Yes, I bet you have.

8) Assumedly, Han pulls his shooting iron out at some point without the knowledge of his assailant. We never actually see this happen because there’s a table in the way. (We see him take the safety off, but we never actually see him take out the gun.)

My apologies. Mr. Battler was too cheap to spring for a doll house table. Assume Greedo can’t see Han’s piece, thus giving the rogue pilot the element of surprise.

9) Upon Han’s, “Yes, I bet you have.” There’s two blasts and some smoke and then the green man’s head hits the table. He’s stone cold dead.

Solo – 1, Greedo – 0

10) Han, tough guy that he is, stands up like nothing happened and walks out, pitching the barkeep some money as an apology for the corpse he left behind. Classy guy.

11) Just for kicks, I imagine what it would look like if Han gave Greedo a celebratory curb stomp:

Eat space boot, loser!

So, what did I learn from all this?

As often happens in real life when shit goes down, the Han vs. Greedo encounter was over and done with in the blink of an eye. Both shots were fired so fast that this investigator was left clueless.

Alas, after viewing the source material and conducting my own crime scene recreation exercise, I was no closer to blowing the lid off this can of worms than I was before I started.

I’d have to review what the experts had to say.

What are the major Han vs. Greedo theories? Next time on Pop Culture Mysteries.

Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.

Tagged action figures, Comedy, funny, greedo, han or greedo who shot first, han solo, han vs greedo, humor, mysteries, Pop Culture Mysteries, Science Fiction, sciencefiction, scifi, space, star wars, starwars

Jun 24 2015

10 Comments

Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Mr. Devil Man – Sneak Peak of Chapter One

Help me out, 3.5 Readers.

In a previous post, I proposed “crowdsourcing a novel.” Jake is thinking about writing a novel about a serial killer case that followed him from 1949 into 2015. He’d write it, post the chapters as on ongoing series, give you all the chance to provide feedback, and then if it seems like a good idea, I’d obtain the help of an editor and a cover designer and self-publish it. I’m pretty sure Jake wouldn’t mind if I kept the profits. (Don’t tell him, just in case.)

Here’s a rough draft of the first chapter. Is this worthy of being self-published or is it just a bunch of inside jokes that only this blog’s 3.5 readers would understand?

Be honest, be critical, let me know whether it’s worth it to keep going.

Mr. Devil Man

By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

August 1, 2015 – 1 p.m.

It was hot. Hotter than the griddle at the Starlight Diner. Hotter than the surface of the sun. Hotter than Greta Garbo in the all together. Hell, it was so hot you could fry an egg on the sidewalk and still have enough room for a stack of flapjacks and a side of hash browns.

I adjusted my collar and dabbed a handkerchief on my brow, catching the beads of sweat so like many reckless raindrops falling from the sky.

Suddenly, I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. The scent of perfume wafted up my schnozola. It was a welcome smell for a man who was hungry for affection and prepared to devour any sign of it that came his way.

“Mr. Hatcher?”

I turned around to find myself staring at my coworker, Ms. Donnelly, attorney for my employer, Mr. Bookshelf Q. Battler. She

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB’s Attorney/Hatcher’s Unrequited Love Interest

was dressed to the nines – a white, wide brimmed hat, a white dress with smatterings of black throughout and a pair of black gloves.

She made it look good but then again, she was the kind of dame that could look fetching in a potato sack.

“Ms. Donnelly.”

“Are you all right?” Delilah asked. “You were monologuing.”

“I’m fine,” I replied. “Just something we detectives like to do from time to time.”

We craned our necks skyward and read the titles on the movie theater’s marquee:

Another Super Hero Flick

Group of Super Heroes in Spandex Working Together

People Who Look Better Than You Do and Have Better Lives Too

Reboot of a Movie that Came Out Two Years Ago

Melissa McCarthy Tries to Scooch Over a Counter and Doesn’t Quite Make It

Chris Pratt “Aw Shucks” His Way Through Another One

Fast Car Criminals Part 75

“What shall we see?” Delilah asked.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” I replied. “Don’t suppose they have a Bogie and Bacall reel they could put on for us do you?”

Delilah’s rare smile made a fleeting appearance. For a man, there’s no better feeling than making a woman smile, especially when she’s working overtime in an attempt not to.

“Doubtful.”

“Not sure I want to watch another fella mince around in tights while saving the day,” I said.

“That’s understandable,” Delilah said. “And I must say I’ve neglected to see Fast Car Criminals Parts 1-74 so I’m certain I’d be irretrievably lost were I to take in Part 75.”

“What’s a reboot?” I asked. “Whatever it is, they have one of a movie that came out two years ago.”

“It’s not so much a sequel as it is Hollywood getting a do-over,” Delilah explained. “They’re sorry they fouled up their first attempt at bringing a beloved piece of popular culture to the silver screen and they’re asking the public to give them a second chance.”

“Well,” I said. “I’m a sucker when it comes to giving folks a second chance. Where would we be without them?”

Jake Hatcher, Film Noir Style Detective/Trench Coat Enthusiast

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said. “I always do everything right the first time.”

Delilah’s face was as stoic as the Sphinx when she said that. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or on the up and up. It was always so hard to tell with that dame. With her precise diction, she never fumbled a word and rarely allowed emotion to bubble over to the surface.

Of all the mysteries in my life I was itching to crack, she was the most beautiful one.

“Shall we see if Mr. Pratt can ‘Aw Shucks’ his way through another one?”

“I suppose we shall.”

I offered the lady my arm but she was taken aback by the gesture.

“Mr. Hatcher!” Delilah said, clutching her pearls. “Must I remind you that this is a mere social outing between work colleagues? I’m not sure what delusions you’re harboring vis a vis the potential of amor but…”

God Sakes Alive. I was aching for love from a gal who was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

“You need not remind me, Ms. Donnelly,” I interrupted. “Ma Hatcher taught me a gentleman must always offer his arm to a lady when walking next to one. Why, you could stumble, fall, bruise your angelic visage and then I’d kick myself with the force of an angry mule over why I did nothing to prevent it.”

Another smile. Two in one day. It was a record.

“I see,” Delilah said as she took my arm. “Well, let it never be said I stood in the way of good manners.”

We strolled into the theater lobby and a cold air conditioning blast took us over, delivering us straight into Antarctica. Hot one minute, cold the next. It was a welcome feeling.

“I could stay in here all day,” I said. “It’s stifling outside.”

“It is,” Delilah said. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if you didn’t wear that trench coat everywhere? It is August, after all.”

It was odd. She made sense but then again, she didn’t. Remove my beloved trench coat? Ridiculous. I only did that when I was back in the office.

We took a look at the refreshment stand menu:

Popcorn – An Arm and a Leg

Soda – It’ll Cost Ya’

Candy – You’ll Need to Refinance Your Home

Nachos – Fahgeddaboutit

“I’m trying my best to not sound like an old fuddy duddy, but in my day a fella could travel around the world for less than what these con artists are asking for a box of candy,” I said.

“Oh, that’s quite all right, Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said. “I never partake in sweets anyway.”

I was about to make an off handed comment about how Delilah was one sweet I’d like to partake in when a horrific scream pierced through the air.

It was coming from the ladies’ room across the lobby.

“NOOO! NOO!!! PLEASE! NOOOOOOO!!!!”

Heads turned and shocked faces were in abundance, but no one knew what to do.

Luckily, there was a man of action in the joint.

“Stay here,” I said to a visibly shaken Delilah as I retrieved Betsy from her holster and made my way to the bathroom.

There was a sign that clearly marked the room as “LADIES ONLY” and Ma Hatcher had always taught me it was improper etiquette for a man to poke his head into such a place but given the circumstances, I’m sure this was an exception to the rule.

I kicked in the door, which in retrospect was unnecessary, seeing as how it wasn’t locked in the first place. At least it made for good dramatic effect.

I walked in and there she was – a raven haired beauty in a pair of blue jeans and a pink shirt, covered in blood, her eyes displaying a sense of fear I’d seen too many times before.

It was over for her. She knew it. I knew it. Neither of us wanted to say it.

I kneeled down and grabbed her hand. She squeezed mine tightly and gasped for breath.

“It’s all right,” I said.

The woman choked and gasped for breath.

“Shh,” I said. “It’s going to be ok.”

Even after all of the death and dismemberment I’ve seen in my day, mankind’s desire to fool itself into thinking things will be ok in the face of doom is uncanny to me. The multiple stab wounds in this woman’s chest meant she had moments to live and all I could think to say to her was, “It’s going to be ok.”

It really wasn’t, but what else was I supposed to tell her?

She reached out a shaky hand and pointed to a small beep boop machine on the floor. I wasn’t sure what it was but assumed it was a cell phone or something. I grabbed it.

“Do you want this?” I asked.

“It’s…”

She winced through the pain and gritted her teeth, then struggled to take in some air. Blood gurgled out of her mouth.

“It’s not…mine.”

And with those last words, she died. I’d seen more people die in the war than I could count. I’d seen men and women die in the streets. Some people grow used to it. Me? It tore my heart out every time.

Gently, I brushed my hand over the poor gal’s face, bringing her eyelids closed. I always did that whenever I happened upon a a corpse at a crime scene. I hated the idea of leaving a human being lying there with nothing to do but stare off into space for all eternity.

Poor thing. Couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two. Yet another new life cut short by one of LA’s numerous psychopaths.

A slight breeze rolled over my face. I looked up. A small window was open. I’d barged in while the girl was still screaming and I hadn’t see the killer. He got away. The idea to give chase crossed my mind but the degenerate had a head start and was probably half-way to Cucamonga.

Besides, I didn’t want to leave the victim alone. I’d been the person on the floor with mortal wounds before. I’d been luckier than this dame, but I wasn’t about to leave until the cops arrived.

I noticed the beep boop machine again. The victim had seemed awfully concerned by it.

I picked it up and examined it. The screen was dark but I could hear the faint sound of a woman singing coming through the tiny ear doo dads attached to the device. “Earbuds” I believe they’re called but who can keep up with all this fancy technology?

I put the buds in my ears and was instantly shocked. It was the kind of shock you feel when you look up to see a piano is about to fall on your head and there’s nothing you can do but stand there with your mouth wide open and and watch it happen.

All of a sudden I found myself listening to the first girlfriend I ever had belting out a tune:

Frustration.

In my body it grows.

Temptation.

It’s the life that I know.

Sometimes I think you’ll never realize…

You’re the one that I despise.

The man I wish that I never knew…

Whoa-oh-oh Mr. Devil Man…

Don’t you know that it’s you?

I tapped my finger on the screen and there it was, a picture of Peaches LeMay. What a knock-out. She had the kind of body that could make a man lose his mind and a voice that could keep it lost forever.

Peaches LeMay – Hatcher’s First Girlfriend. Damn our resident gumshoe really got around.

Underneath her picture were the words, “JAZZ CLASSIC OF THE 1940’s – Peaches LeMay – Mr. Devil Man.” It was her signature hit. It started out slow before Peaches hit the high notes. I’d seen her perform in person multiple times and the gal had a set of wind pipes that could fill a concert hall yet trick you into thinking you were the only one she was singing to.

Mr. Devil Man!

Mr. Liar Man!

Mr. Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em and Cheat ‘Em Man!

The man I wish that I never knew!

If hating’s you wrong I don’t want to be right.

Get out of my way

Get out of my sight!

Oh Mr. Devil Man…

Oh how I hate you….

The memories poured into my mind like a waterfall hitting a pile of rocks. And they weren’t just the good ones, like the time when Peaches and I made our way to Tinseltown together, a couple of kids with big dreams in our empty heads and little more than a few bucks in our pockets to back them up.

There were also the bad memories. Specifically, it dawned on me that I’d investigated six separate crime scenes just like this

one before.

The bathroom door opened.

“Mr. Hatcher?” Delilah asked from outside, afraid to come in. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” I said as I pulled the buds out of my ears. “No Ms. Donnelly, I’m afraid things are very far from all right.”

What say you, 3.5 readers? Yay or nay?

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Copyright (C) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.

Tagged amwriting, bookbloggers, books, mysteries, Mystery, Pop Culture Mysteries, selfpublishing, writers, writing

Jun 24 2015

Pop Culture Mysteries Promo – “The Interrogation”

By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Private Eye

Timeline: Set at some undetermined point in the future. (Or, maybe this never happens at all.)

Chauncey was a wily one alright. A real shifty character. Not a person to be trusted.

Still, he was the biggest stool pigeon in Hollywood, the guy who knew everything, even what you had for breakfast last Tuesday.

He had a reputation for spilling his guts upon the slightest application of pressure.

More importantly, this unsavory character had an answer to a question that my partner Mickey and I needed to know.

Chauncey the Stool Pigeon, Hatcher’s go-to squealer when he hits a dead end in a case.

It was time to play a rousing game of bad cop, worse cop.

I grabbed the hot light and shined it directly at the mug’s face.

“Why don’t you make it easy on yourself and sing like a canary, Chauncey?” I asked. “Cooperate and we’ll go easy on you, see?”

“Go take a long walk off a short pier, copper!” Chauncey said. “I don’t know nothin’!”

It was Mickey’s turn. Old Mick paced back and forth all quiet like, lulling our mark into a false sense of security until finally he pounced.

“You think this is some kind of game?” Mickey said as he slapped Chauncey across the face. “This is serious business and you’re way over your head!!!”

“Hey!” Chauncey said as he rubbed a fresh bruise on his cheek. “You can’t do that! I want my lawyer!”

I grabbed a chair, turned it around backwards, and sat down on the other end of the table.

“You want a lawyer?” I asked.

I looked over at Mickey.

“You hear that Mick? This lowlife wants a lawyer.”

“Of course he wants a lawyer,” Mick said as he blew cigarette smoke into Chauncey’s face. “Only scumbags with something to hide ask to see a lawyer!”

Chauncey lowered his head. A few tear drops poured from his eyes.

Mick and I laughed.

“Oh sure!” Mick said. “Mr. Big Man! Thinks he knows it all but turns into a cry baby when the shit hits the fan!”

“I…” Chauncey said. “I never wanted to get involved in this but… I can’t help it. I hear things. People tell me things, things I wish I’d never heard and then you flat foots always haul my ass in here like I’m some kind of degenerate when I swear on my mother’s grave this time I don’t know anything, see?”

Time for good cop to make an appearance.

I poured Chauncey a glass of water. He grabbed it and slurped away. We’d been sweating the galoot under the hot lights for three hours without offering him any sustenance whatsoever, so he was thirstier than a Gila monster in the middle of the desert.

“There there, fella,” I said. “Look, we get it. Shit happens to innocent bystanders all the time.”

Mickey Finn – Hatcher’s ex-partner from the late 1940’s, who actually isn’t around in 2015 (or is he?) but the idea for this post seemed too funny to pass up. Ignore it as the story progresses.

“See it all the time in our line of work,” Mickey said.

“That’s why you need to help us help you get ahead of this thing,” I said.

“Something bad happened,” Mickey added. “And we know you know who did it so you better flap those gums and tell us what we want to hear.”

“Can I have another one?” Chauncey asked.

I nodded and poured him another glass. He downed it in one gulp.

“Look fellas,” Chauncey said. “When I know somethin’, you’ll know somethin’, ok? I ‘aint done you coppers wrong before, have I? I’m tellin’ ya, the streets are silent on this one, quieter than a nun on Easter, see? I ‘aint holdin’ out on youse guys, you gotta believe me!”

I looked at Mick. He shook his head.

“I was really hoping I wouldn’t need this,” Mickey said as he produced a large phone book from a drawer.

“Aw come on!” Chauncey said. “Hatcher! Come on, you can’t let him do this!”

“You’re on your own, Chaunce,” I said. “I tried to help you.”

WACK! Mickey knocked Chauncey right in the kisser.

“WHO DID IT?!” Mickey shouted.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

WACK!

“WHO?!”

“Your butt ugly mothers!”

An insult to Ma Hatcher? I couldn’t let it stand. I grabbed the phone book and went to town on the weasel’s face.

Then I grabbed him by his stupid necktie, pulled him in closer and asked him directly:

“WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?!”

“I don’t know!” Chauncey said. “Look, all I know is…the party was nice, the party was bumpin’…”

“Hey!” I yelled.

“Yippie-Yi-Yo,” Chauncey said. “I don’t know. That was some dumb thing everyone was saying. Anyway, everybody was having a ball until the fellas start the name callin.”

“And the girls respond to the call?” Mickey asked.

I had to hand it to Mick. That was an important question, but Chauncey ignored it.

“Did you hear anything else?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Chauncey said as he poured himself a third glass of water. “I heard a poor man shout out, ‘WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?”

“Who?” I asked.

“Who?” Mickey repeated.

“Who, who, who?” Chauncey said between sips. “Jesus Christ, you cops are like a broken record, that’s all I remember, may lightning strike me dead if I’m a liar.”

“What do you think, Mick?” I asked.

“He’s full of shit,” my partner replied. “But not this time. He’d of talked like Walter Winchell by now. He’s got nothin.'”

“Looks like it,” I said as Mickey and I headed out into the hallway.

“Hey coppers,” Chauncey said. “I gotta take a leak!”

“Start doing the pee pee dance, Chauncey,” I said. “You’re not going anywhere until we sort this mess out.”

“Who Let the Dogs Out?” by The Baha Men – a 2000 release.

Do you know who let the dogs out? Hatcher wants to know. Drop a dime on the good-for-nothin. Tweet the answer to @bookshelfbattle #popculturemysteries or leave the info in the comments on bookshelfbattle.com.

Oh, and try not to get confused because Mickey hasn’t made it to 2015 yet. (Or has he?)

Jake’s working on the ending to “Who Shot First?” and hopes to have it out soon.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Tagged amwriting, baha men, Comedy, entertainment, funny, hollywood, humor, music, pop culture, Pop Culture Mysteries, who let the dogs out

Jun 23 2015

4 Comments

Pop Culture Mysteries

Crowdsourcing a Novel?

Happy Tuesday, 3.5 Readers.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here.

Have I mentioned how much I love Pop Culture Mysteries? These things write themselves. I have plenty of ideas lined up, it’s just a matter of finding the time to write them. (Er, I mean to have Jake write them.)

I’m thinking about writing a novel set in Jake’s world.

Actually, Jake would write it and I’d just take the credit for it.

The gist would be that a serial killer Jake hunted as a police detective in 1949 has found his way to 2015. Jake has to drop his Pop Culture Mystery investigations for awhile and retrace his steps from long ago as the killer wreaks havoc in modern times.

Delicious Dish Delilah K. Donnelly would back our resident gumshoe up, naturally.

Or in other words – Mr. Devil Man.

If I go for it, I’d publish the novel here on the Bookshelf Battle Blog first in a series of posts, giving my 3.5 readers an early look.

Tell me if it’s good or not, what works, what doesn’t, how I could improve and so on.

Ultimately, you fine 3.5ers could give me the thumbs up or down as to whether it would be worth it to move on the next stages, i.e. finding an editor, putting an ebook together and putting it out there on Amazon.

PRO – It’d motivate me to actually write a novel.

CON – Would people outside of this blog’s 3.5 readership understand who Bookshelf Q. Battler is? I suppose the novel could begin with a brief intro that Jake fell asleep for 59 years only to get a job as a Pop Culture Detective for a nerdy blogger.

I don’t know. Like most ideas, could be great, could be not.

I’m itching to get something self-published though.

Who would want to be my test nerds?

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Tagged bookbloggers, books, crowdsourcing, entertainment, hollywood, media, mysteries, novels, pop culture, Pop Culture Mysteries, popular culture, selfpublishing

Jun 23 2015

3 Comments

Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 4)

I pointed Betsy straight at my newfound enemy and made my demands known.

“You’re gonna cut the bullshit fella or I’ll send you first class on a one-way trip to the great beyond, see?”

Streaming Media has timed out. Try again?

I wanted to fill the desktop beep boop machine Delilah had gotten for me full of lead but somehow I had a hunch these things were more expensive to replace than a night on the town with Gina Lollobrigida.

Even so, I wasn’t about to spend all day trying to figure out how to work that blasted contraption.

I holstered Betsy and made my way to the LA Public Library. Upon my arrival, I looked around for Agnes the Librarian, the only person I’d met so far in this ridiculous time period with the patience to help me navigate modern technology.

“Agnes!” I shouted as I saw the old bird returning a book to its place on a shelf.

Agnes the Librarian

She turned around and hit me with an annoying “SHHHH!” that gave me half a mind to reach for Betsy.

But God knows Ma Hatcher would not have approved.

“Agnes,” I whispered. “I’m hot on the trail of a case and I need you to work your magic on a beep boop machine.”

“What do you need?” Agnes asked.

“You ever hear of a flick called, ‘Star Wars?‘”

“Have I heard of it?” Agnes asked. “Oh Good Gracious, I saw it when it first came out in the movie theater.”

“Great story,” I said, though I was completely uninterested in hearing it. “You got a copy of it here?”

Agnes ignored me and carried on.

“Oh, that was such a long time ago,” she said. “Herbert and I were on a date. We’d been going steady for awhile and of course, my parents didn’t approve, him being a Presbyterian and all but somehow…”

I grabbed the ancient broad by the shoulders.

“Land sakes alive, woman!” I shouted, forgetting I was in a studious establishment.

A nerd who reminded me of my employer pulled his nose out of a science book and glared at me disapprovingly.

“Hey buddy! Do you mind? Some of us are trying to read here.”

“Land sakes alive, woman,” I repeated in a softer tone. “Skip the story and put the movie on for me already. I’ve got five big ones riding on this!”

“Hmmph,” Agnes said as she stormed off and waved her hand in a motion that bid me to follow. “All you young people are all the same, never concerned with anyone but yourselves.”

She hooked a left and opened a door marked “Media Room.”

The flick in question came out in 1977 according to Mr. Battler’s note. Agnes and Herbert, Agnes’ now ailing husband, went to see it on a date. I started doing math in my head.

“Say Agnes,” I said. “How old were you when you and old Herbert saw this picture?”

The old gal handed me some kind of funny looking device.

“Stop it,” Agnes said as she looked through a metal cabinet. “You don’t need to pretend to care.”

“I’ve had a change of heart,” I said.

“No no,” Agnes said. “You young people just walk around checking your cell phones and updating your Facebook pages and if it isn’t about you then you could care less. Except for you, somehow you’re a technological illiterate but you’re still just as self absorbed as the rest of them.”

Every generation feels like that about the ones coming up behind them. Ma and Pa Hatcher used to give that same song and dance routine to my brother Roscoe and I way back when we were just a couple of kids in Bayonne. Hell, I feel the same way about every Jackass I bump into today.

“Agnes,” I said. “I swear on a stack of bibles piled a mile high that I’m never going to feel whole if I don’t hear the story about how you and Herbert saw this movie together.”

The elderly librarian’s face lighted up like a Christmas tree with all the trimmings. She pulled a plastic case marked “Star Wars” out of the cabinet, removed some kind of funny looking circular thing, inserted it into the device she’d given me and led me to a table where we each took a seat.

“Well, since you put it that way,” Agnes began. “Herbert and I were both twenty-two at the time. I’d just started working here and he was a student at UCLA. My darling Herbie used to visit the library all the time, telling me that he was working on his thesis but between you and me, I think he just wanted to see me. He always came up with some excuse to get me to help him. Oh, such a sweetheart he was…”

I ignored all the yakkity yak and worked it out. Twenty-two in 1977. The broad was born in 1955, the same year I fell asleep in my office above Tsang’s China Palace. She was sixty and looked like a decrepit old bag while I was ninety-five and still looked like a thirty-five year old.

I liked being perpetually thirty-five. It was a good age. Old enough to know a thing or two. Young enough to do something about it.

Even so, it made me sad to think this gal that was younger than I was looked like she was going to meet her maker before me.

“It was so amazing,” Agnes said. “All of those special effects. Things on the big screen neither of us had ever seen before. Herb and I were blown away. The whole audience was. Everyone thought George Lucas was some kind of wizard. Anyway, after the movie we went to…”

I tuned out the old hen’s clucking. Suddenly, a terrible thought hit me like a truck running a red light.

Delilah. Should I bother stoking the fire I had for in my heart?

Hatcher was worried that Delilah might grow old and ugly and hideous and oh yeah, that she might also die before he did. The dying before he did part was totally the part he was most worried about, not her looks at all.

Wasn’t my favorite filly destined to one day grow as old and wrinkly and leathery and hideous as Agnes?

Oh yeah, and she might die before me too. I wasn’t just worried about Delilah growing old and hideous and…

Wait, what was I thinking about? I couldn’t remember. The librarian was babbling incessantly…

“And so I bent Herbert over my knee and said, ‘This is what I do to people who don’t return their library books on time’ and then I grabbed my paddle and reached back for a good swing and…”

“Hey!” I interrupted. “Hey uh, yeah that’s a great story, Ag. Real great. Say, howsabout you watch this flick with me and explain to me what the hell’s going on in it? I’ve got a hunch I’m going to find it more confusing than a dance partner with two left feet.”

Agnes thought about it.

“Why not?” she asked. “I’ll put those books away later. Kind of surprised you’ve never seen this though. I thought everyone’s seen this one.”

“Yeah,” I said as I leaned back. “I’ve missed out on a lot of things.”

Editor’s Note: It’s the official position of the Bookshelf Battle Blog that Agnes is a lovely woman and isn’t “hideous and ugly and so on.” Hatcher can be kind of a dick sometimes, and not just a private one.

More to come…

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler. All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Tagged entertainment, film noir, hollywood, Movies, mysteries, pop culture, Pop Culture Mysteries, popular culture, Science Fiction, scifi, star wars, starwars

Jun 22 2015

The Week Ahead

Happy Monday, 3.5 Readers.

I hope everyone is enjoying Pop Culture Mysteries. I have to say I’m glad this idea popped into my head.

I’ve heard Jake says these stories are a joy to write and at the risk of offending Alien Jones, it’s the best writing to appear on this blog since it began over a year ago.

Part 4 of “Who Shot First?” will appear tomorrow. Hatcher will once again enlist the help of Agnes the Librarian, an elderly woman who ironically knows her way around a computer (aka a beep boop machine) better than Hatcher.

But what can you expect? He’s a 1950’s kind of guy, after all.

I’ll need some time to write the ending of the story, so the rest of “Who Shot First?” will come back later. I’ll try my best to not leave you hanging for more than a week, but alas, my schedule is kind of hectic so who knows.

In the meantime, Bookshelf Q. Battler and the Meaning of Life returns soon. I, Bookshelf Q. Battler and my new love interest, Video Game Rack Fighter, will continue on our quest for the answer to life’s most vexing question.

3.5 Readers, I wish there were more of you, but I take what I can get and knowing that at least someone is enjoying this motivates me to keep going.

We’ve talked about the week ahead, so what about the future ahead?

The best part of this one post a day for a year challenge is that it’s forced me to produce. Without some kind of deadline, I’m likely to just fall into the trap of putting my writing off forever.

The worst part is there are times when I realize if I blogged less and worked on a novel more, that novel could eventually find its way on amazon.

But without an effort to expand my fan base beyond 3.5 readers, who’d read it?

It’s all about investment. I’m putting in the time to become a better writer.

At the same time, I realize when you take time out of your busy lives, you’re doing so with the belief that I’m going to entertain you.

Rest assured, I’m doing my best not to let you down.

The “3.5” thing is a fun joke. In reality, around 30-50 or so of you have been checking the blog daily, assumedly to find out what’s going on with me, or Jake, or AJ. Hell, some of you even care about the Yeti or Dr. Hugo Von Science.

I appreciate it. This blog is written during the few moments I get to steal away from everything else that’s demanding my attention, and as long as you keep reading, I’ll keep reminding myself its worth it to keep writing and to not just waste my time with the netflix bingeathons my mind so desperately craves.

I hate the marketing side and I hate to be “that guy” who asks his 3.5 readers for favors, but with that being said, if you have a favorite Bookshelf Battle Blog post, please consider sharing it somewhere on the Internet (or has Hatcher calls it, “the Interwhatever.”)

Twitter, Facebook, a Reblog, whatever you can do to bring more eyes this way would be appreciated.

Alien Jones, who believes his assignment to help me launch my writing career is beneath him, would certainly be thrilled if you can help me get this off the ground so he can focus on more important matters, like saving the universe from the dreaded Moloklaxons.

Remember when this used to be a book blog? Ahh, memories…

Tagged amwriting, bloggers, blogs, books, BQB and the Meaning of Life, novels, Pop Culture Mysteries, selfpublishing, writers, writing

Jun 22 2015

3 Comments

Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 3)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

PART 1 – Hatcher recalls a gun fight with mobster Tips Malone. He was never able to figure out who shot first in that case.

PART 2 – BQB’s Attorney, Delilah K. Donnelly, delivers a bag containing two action figures. BQB claims these are necessary for Hatcher’s research but let’s face it. That nerd just wants them.

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“All right,” I said as I pushed a toy laser gun into a tiny Han Solo’s hand. “Now if Solo was over here and then Greedo walks in…”

Hatcher checks for typos.

Delilah looked as bored as a sinner in church. She stared at the toy Greedo in her hand as if someone had dropped a pile of horse manure all over her delicate fingers.

“Ms. Donnelly,” I said. “That’s your cue to make your green space man enter the room.”

Delilah rolled her eyes and expelled an exasperated sigh.

“Mr. Hatcher,” the sultry siren said. “This is most undignified. I already had to endure standing in line at a bargain store behind various rapscallions who find it be perfectly acceptable to be out in public whilst clad in pajama bottoms. I was even forced to endure a lecture from Mr. Battler to be sure to return these quote unquote ‘collector’s items’ to him with their original packaging intact. Must I endure the nonsense of pretending to be a green space man as well?”

“What?” I asked. “You expect me to play with myself?”

I knew that came out wrong but it was too late to pull the words back into my mouth.

Delilah raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I suspect you do that often, Mr. Hatcher.”

That dame’s poker face was impeccable. I never knew if she was serious or joking. I’ve seen brick walls that displayed more emotion.

“Come now, Ms. Donnelly,” I said. “It’ll all be worth it when we crack this caper.”

“Bah, very well,” Delilah said as she made Greedo walk across the desk.

It was a surreal site, kind of like watching a young Queen of England playing with an action figure.

“Do his voice,” I commanded.

Delilah shot me a look that caused me to deduce that she wanted to strangle me with my own neck tie.

Dames and action figures don’t mix.

“Mr. Hatcher, I hesitate to say this as we are work colleagues but I must make it known that when you say such foolish things I’m forced to fight back a strong urge to put my cigarette out in your eyeball.”

Joke? Serious? Again, I had no clue.

“Point taken, Ms. Donnelly, point taken.”

Delilah pulled a silver pocket watch out of her clutch and checked the time.

“I apologize for having to cut this soiree short but there’s a seat at the opera waiting for me.”

The opera. A classy place for a classy gal. You’d never catch this shamus dead in a joint like that and alas, I was once again reminded that my chances of making Delilah the fourth Mrs. Hatcher were slim and none and slim had just packed a bag and run off like a thief in the night.

“Sounds like a real hoot and a half,” I said. “I must say though, Ma Hatcher would frown upon me allowing a lady to wander about the streets on her own without an escort.”

“I’m meeting someone,” Delilah said as she stubbed her cigarette out in my ashtray. “A fine gentleman will be picking me up momentarily.”

A fine gentleman. Whoever he was, I’d of gladly bareknuckle boxed a thousand ornery wolverines just to trade places with him.

Delilah stood up and I followed suit. Ma Hatcher taught me well. I opened the door and showed my guest out.

“Which show are you taking in?” I asked as I led the way downstairs.

“A Mozart piece,” Delilah said as we cut across Ms. Tsang’s restaurant floor. “I doubt you’ve ever heard of it, Mr. Hatcher. It’s a rather complicated title. ‘Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail.’”

“Ahh,” I replied. “‘The Abduction from the Seraglio.‘ A fine show, though a bit drab for my taste.”

Delilah’s money maker looked as if it had just lost a few bucks.

“I picked up a little German while I was giving the Nazis what-for.”

“Of course,” Delilah said with her lips curled up ever so slightly in her version of a smile.

I opened the front door and led the blonde outside.

“Thank you Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said. “I appreciate your chivalry but you may take your leave. I expect my gentleman caller any minute.”

“If it’s all the same, Ms. Donnelly,” I said as I lit up a stogie, “I’ll stick around for a bit longer. The criminal element runs thick through this neighborhood and I dare say I’d have to fling myself off the Golden Gate Bridge if any harm were to come to your person while I was in the general vicinity.”

“That’s…”

Delilah paused for a moment then started again.

“That’s oddly sweet, Mr. Hatcher.”

“I’m an oddly sweet kind of guy, Ms. Donnelly.”

A few minutes passed. We shot the breeze about days gone by and before we knew it, a stretch limousine pulled up to the curb.

A chauffeur stepped out, opened the door, and helped the lady into the vehicle.

“Have fun playing with yourself, Mr. Hatcher.”

Those were the last words she said to me just before the chauffeur got back behind the wheel and drove the dame I desired away.

Joke? Serious? I didn’t care. She felt the need to turn around and say one last thing to me and that’s all that mattered.

Susan Tsang, Proprietor of Tsang’s China Palace, Hatcher’s Landlady

Like a bloodhound with its tail between its legs, I walked back inside Tsang’s China Palace empty handed, but not for long.

My landlady, Ms. Tsang, greeted me with a steaming hot plate of moo goo gai pan.

My favorite.

“Holy Crap, Jake,” Ms. Tsang said. “Who is this woman that keeps coming to see you?”

“Who?” I asked. “Ms. Donnelly? She’s just a work acquaintance.”

“Work acquaintance my ass. She’s beautiful. You need to lock that shit up.”

Ms. Tsang always had a way with words.

“Some fella already beat me to the punch,” I said as I headed upstairs.

“Who?!” Ms. Tsang asked.

“I dunno,” I answered. “Someone who made better life choices than I did I suppose.”

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Tagged amwriting, amwriting mystery, Comedy, entertainment, funny, humor, mozart, mysteries, Mystery, mystery writers, opera, pop culture, Pop Culture Mysteries

Jun 21 2015

4 Comments

Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 2)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

READ PART 1 – Jake receives a request from Bookshelf Q. Battler to investigate whether Han or Greedo shot first in the original Star Wars (1977) film. Our resident gumshoe is reminded of a similar encounter he had with mobster Tips Malone.

The case had come to a standstill. I had zero leads and even less patience.

“I give up,” I said as I put my feet up on my desk and drifted back to sleep.

“Who shot first? Who cares? Why does it even matter?”

Hatcher types his report.

The enchanting face of Delilah K. Donnelly filled my dreams but alas, it was all for naught.

My chances of getting up close and personal with that blonde bombshell?

About the same as a duck billed platypus walking into a room without anyone laughing.

An hour later, there was a knock on my office door.

I ignored it. More knocks.

“Beat it, Jack!” I yelled. “I’m closed!”

Another knock.

“Mr. Hatcher?”

It was Delilah. I jumped out of my chair faster than the 6:15 to Walla Walla, Washington.

I found a mirror and straightened my fedora. I was a mess but then again, I always was. Most private dicks usually are. Par for the course in the criminal catching racket.

Delilah K. Donnelly, BQB’s Attorney

I opened the door and there she was, my dream girl all decked out from stem to stern in a gorgeous dress.

Such a fashion maven. I doubt she ever took two steps away from home without gussying up and polishing herself shinier than a hay penny.

“Mr. Hatcher,” Delilah said. “I dare say your mother would be appalled that you kept a lady waiting.”

“She would indeed, Ms. Donnelly, she would indeed,” I said as I showed her in and pulled out a chair for her. “Unfortunately, I had to make myself presentable.”

“Are you still working on that?” Delilah asked as she pinched her nose, oblivious to the fact that her insult struck my heart with the precision of an arrow shot by Robin Hood’s bow. “It smells like a distillery in here.”

“Yes,” I said as I grabbed a flask off my desk and shoved it into a drawer. “One of uh, my clients, left that here. Poor drunk fellow. Can’t get enough of the stuff. Me personally, I rarely touch the devil’s juice.”

“I should hope not,” Delilah said as she sparked up one of her filtered cigarettes. “I worry about the integrity of individuals with addictions, Mr. Hatcher.”

I thought about pointing out that smoking was, in fact, an addiction but the gears cranking away in my brain indicated to me that such a statement wouldn’t take me very far in my quest to separate Ms. Donnelly from her fine fashions.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked.

The lady lawyer plopped a plastic bag on my desk. I opened it up and found these fellas inside:

The Suspects

“What in the name of Dwight D. Eisenhower is all this then?” I asked.

“Research,” Delilah said. “Mr. Battler sent me to a store to purchase these toys and asked that I deliver them posthaste in the hopes that they will help you solve your second pop culture mystery.”

“I don’t get it,” I said as I held one of them up. “What am I supposed to do with these guys?”

“Well,” Delilah said as she blew out a smoke ring. “They’re toys are they not? You simply play with them, Mr. Hatcher, and see what happens next.”

Will Hatcher crack the case? The story continues tomorrow…

Copyright (c) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Detective and blonde woman images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Tagged action figures, Comedy, entertainment, funny, greedo, han or greedo who shot first, han solo, hollywood, humor, Movies, pop culture, Pop Culture Mysteries, popular culture, sci fi, Science Fiction, star wars

Jun 20 2015

9 Comments

Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #002 – Who Shot First? (Part 1)

By: Jake Hatcher, Official Bookshelf Battle Private Eye

POP CULTURE MYSTERY QUESTION: Han or Greedo: Who Shot First?

It was early morning. My five o’clock shadow had become a midnight blackout. I needed a shave like a madman needs sanity.

A ray of sunlight kissed my face but I was too tired to pucker. I closed the blinds and leaned back in my chair, my trusty fedora covering my face, leaving me in my own little world.

I drifted off in a space between slumber and reality, hovering on the verge of both but not quite entering into either. It’s nice when you’re too sleepy to care, but not too tired to enjoy it.

The sensation was short lived. I heard the scraping sound of an envelope being pushed underneath my door.

It was from Delilah. My new employer’s attorney had my heart twisted in knots though I’m sure the feeling only went one way.

Isn’t it strange how quickly we become attracted to that which we can’t have?

I opened up the envelope and read it.

Detective Hatcher,

A rogue pilot and a green alien walk into a bar. They shoot at each another. One lives. One dies.

That’s not the setup of a hilarious joke. It’s the beginning of your next pop culture mystery.

“Who shot first – Han or Greedo?” That’s been a question on the minds of geeks, dweebs, nerds, and assorted poindexters since the original Star Wars graced the big screen in 1977.

Some think Greedo shot first. Others believe it was Han. Both sides have their arguments. Both have their critics and detractors. It’s a question that has raged through the geekosphere for years with no resolution in sight.

I want you to provide that resolution, Hatcher. Did Han shoot first? Did Greedo? My 3.5 readers want answers!

Sincerely,

Bookshelf Q. Battler,
Blogger-In-Chief
Bookshelf Battle Blog

I crumpled up the paper and tossed it into my waste basket. Green aliens and space pilots shooting at each other. Who cares?

During my World War II days, over a thousand Nazis had taken shots at me. I’m still here. They’re not. It never mattered to me who shot first as long as I was the last man standing.

First? Second? Doesn’t matter. Betsy always comes out on top.

Delilah’s men had set up my office with fancy new fangled beep boop machines.

There was a big one on the desk and a little one I was expected to carry around with me.

Of all the phony baloney cock and bull inventions of this new world, the “cell phone” is the one I least understand.

Seriously, I walk out the door and I still have to be reachable by every Tom, Dick and Harry from here to Kalamazoo? In my day, if a fella wasn’t around when you called him, you’d just call him back later. There wasn’t anything so important it couldn’t wait.

Now everyone wants to call everyone else all the time, day or night and the ironic part is that few people ever have anything important to say.

“Who shot first?”

That very question took this old gumshoe’s mind back to late 1948.

I was around three years in on the job as an LA cop and had been promoted quickly to Detective. My partner was the irascible Mickey Finn. Believe it or not but back in those days, I actually liked the guy. Of course, that was before I caught him playing doctor with the first Mrs. Hatcher.

The Gilded Lilly. What a dive. I’d seen city trash dumps with better character and more respectable clientele.

Mugsy “I’m Just a Legitimate Businessman” McGillicuddy

It was owned by one Mugsy McGillicuddy. Back then, Old Mugsy was the boss to end all crime bosses in the City of Angels. The man was bald as a cueball, uglier than original sin, and was so fat that he bared a striking resemblance to three hundred pounds of crap stuffed into a one hundred pound bag.

Mickey and I strolled through the front door, dressed in our finest business attire. The bird on stage tickled our eardrums with her high notes while waitresses peddled cigarettes and cheap hooch. The whole place stunk with a mixture of smoke and dime store perfume. Kind of reminds me of my second ex-wife, come to think of it.

In the back corner booth, there was a rogue’s galley of ne’er-do-wells. It was a veritable who’s who of LA scumbaggery.

There was Ratface Wally. He wasn’t actually that bad looking but he’d squealed on his old New York Boss, Carmine Labrazza, singing a song for the coppers like he was auditioning for the opera. Mugsy had taken Wally under his wing, giving him protection in exchange for underworld secrets regarding his East Coast competition. That was one of the many reasons why Mugsy was universally despised, even by his fellow wiseguys.

Then there was Handsome Hank. It was an ironic nickname, like calling a fella Lefty when he’s a righty or Slim when he’s fat. That chump looked like the Gestapo had goose stepped all over his money maker, then turned around and did it again.

Sitting in between them was Tips Malone. They called him “Tips” because he was always generous with his billfold, doling out the cash to every dame that smiled at him. Tips was the man Mickey and I had come to see. After all, he was Mugsy’s second-in-command.

“Officers!” Tips said. “I’d offer you a drink but I know fine upstanding law men such as yourselves wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You’re right,” I replied.

“Speak for yourself,” Mickey said. “Whiskey, straight up.”

Tips snapped his fingers to get the attention of a short, perky waitress who immediately ran off to get Mickey’s drink.

Boozing on the job. The warning signs of Mickey’s dirt bag ways were there. I just wish I’d seen them before it was too late.

“Where’s Mugsy?” I asked. “We’re here to serve an arrest warrant on him on a silver platter.”

“You’d run in a fine, respectable businessman like Mr. McGillicuddy?” Tips asked.

“We’re gonna lock up that big lug and bury the key smack dab in the middle of the Great Mojave,” I answered.

Tips clapped his hands, feigning applause.

“Bravo, Detective Hatcher,” Tips said. “Bravo. What a boy scout you are. I’m afraid I can’t help you, though. I haven’t spoken to Mr. McGillicuddy in days.”

“Hold on while I hitch up my boots,” I said. “Sounds like it’s going to get pretty deep in here, see?”

Mickey Finn – Hatcher’s Ex-Partner and Self-Declared Life of the Party.

The waitress brought Mickey’s drink. Old Mick sucked it down like it was liquid gold. Irony is a bitch in blue suede shoes, isn’t she? Back then, I was the sober one and Mickey was the palooka who was three sheets to the wind and ready to set sail to any port in town. Today, I’m sad to say it’s vice versa.

“Fellas,” Tips said. “Why don’t you leave us a moment?”

Wally and Hank got out of dodge while the getting was good. Mickey was buzzed but not too plastered to realize that the other shoe was about to drop. Gutless coward that he was, he didn’t want to be anywhere around when it happened.

“Pardon me while I visit the little boy’s room,” Mickey said. “You two behave now.”

As soon as we were alone, I heard the unmistakable sound of a clicking revolver coming from Tips’ direction. He’d had it pointed at me underneath the table the entire time.

“I think you’d better get back on the horse you rode in on, copper,” Tips said.

I opened up my trench coat and gave the felonious goon a peak at Old Betsy. She was sitting snuggly in her holster, just itching for a fight.

“I have a toy too and I came to play, see?”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Tips replied. “But surely you realize I have the drop on you. I’ll have you deader than a doornail before you can even reach for your shooting iron.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you’re such a lousy shot that I’ll paint the walls with your brains before you know what hit you, see?”

Things were getting heated. The “sees” started flying back and forth across the table like a squad of supercharged geese.

“Maybe you I’ll shoot your schnozola off your stupid face to remind you not to poke it where it doesn’t belong, see?” Tips said.

“Yeah?” I asked. “Well, maybe I’ll fill you full of so many holes you’ll be able to do commercials for the Acme Swiss Cheese Company, see?”

“See?”

“See.”

“See?”

“See.”

It was a see-off.

“You ‘aint a bad guy Hatcher,” Tips said. “But you’re in over your head. Maybe you ought to learn a little something from your
partner about how to play ball. We’ve had Old Mick on the payroll for quite some time now. You can get a little bit of the green stuff for looking the other way too.”

“I could do that,” I said. “But I’d never be able to look the other way from my soul and it would ache worse than a monkey stuck in a meat grinder if I sell out to a two-bit hood like you, Malone.”

Tips Malone – Gentleman Gangster

Tips nodded and raised his left hand in a “stop” motion. With his right, he sat his revolver down on the table.

“Sportsmanship Hatcher,” my adversary said. “Let’s start with our steel on the table.”

I had to admire the guy. He had the drop on me and he gave it up to play fair. I retrieved Betsy and sat her on the table in front of me.

“Is that a Schotzenhauer?” Tips asked.

“Sure is,” I replied. “Model P58.”

“What a beauty,” Tips said. “She see a lot of action in the war?”

“Lost count after I sent a thousand Nazis to meet their maker,” I said. “They had a lot of explaining to do.”

“Won’t we all?” Tips asked. “Won’t we all.”

“On three then?” I asked.

“On three.”

I said one. Tips said two.

There was no three.

Just two loud BLAM BLAMS!

Tips was stone cold dead with a hole in his forehead deeper than the Grand Canyon. I was fine. Tips had always been a notoriously bad shot and I knew it. Hell, I used it to my advantage.

To this day, I’m not sure who shot first. It was possible that I’d popped Tips’ head open like a ripe casaba melon only to have him squeeze off an errant round in the last reflex movement of his pathetic life.

Then again, as I looked at the hole in the wall just a few inches away from my head, it dawned on me that Tips might have squeezed off the first round and missed, his lousy aim giving me the chance I needed to get the drop on him.

Good Old Betsy. After an all Nazi diet for years, she was hungry for any degenerate she could find.

And LA had an endless supply of them.

I walked to the bar and found Mickey. He was working on round number three.

“Hatch my boy!” Mickey said as he patted me on the back. “Have one with your partner!”

I plopped a one-dollar bill on the bar as an apology to the barkeep for the mess I was about to leave him with.

“Sorry Mac,” I said. “Big pile of trash back there for you.”

“Happens once a day in this joint, copper,” the bartender said as he ran a white cloth up and down the bar for no apparent reason. “You might want to skeedaddle before Wally and Hank come back though.”

I plopped my hand down on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Just one more,” my partner said.

“For Christ Sakes, man!” I said, giving Mickey a taste of my backhand. “You’re an officer of the law! Get ahold of yourself!”

“Well excuse me Father Hatcher,” Mickey said with slurred speech as he walked out the door with me. “I didn’t know you’d joined the priesthood.”

“Stuff it, Mick,” I said. “I think we need to have a talk about proper police procedure. You’re due for a refresher, see?”

My mind drifted for awhile. Finally, the flashback was over and I was concentrating on my 2015 life again.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever figure out which one of these space weirdos shot first,” I said, staring at Mr. Battler’s letter in my hand. “Same thing happened to me and I’m not sure myself.”

Who shot first? Han or Greedo? Star Wars fans, stop by bookshelfbattle.com tomorrow for a discussion of this vexing question!

Copyright (C) Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015. All Rights Reserved.

All images in this post courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Tagged entertainment, greedo, han solo, hollywood, Movies, mysteries, pop culture, Pop Culture Mysteries, popular culture, Science Fiction, scifi, star wars

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