Bloodthirsty Liberal

Longtime readers of this page (that would be me, pretty much) might remember my abortive attempt to serialize a detective story. I wrote three chapters. I have no reason to believe I’ll be more successful this time, but I do have few more readers to watch my literary high-wire act. I’ll submit a chapter a day, and try to stay a few days ahead to keep the pressure off. The first three chapters have been lightly edited from the original (which have been removed from the site). The inspiration was a quote from Ahmadinejad to the effect that anyone who messed with Iran would be met with “harm and pain”. Thus was born, almost a year ago, Harmon Paine, PI.

I had given up the gumshoe business, retiring to my roof terrace to raise heirloom tomatoes, when I got the call.

“Harmon Paine?” an unfamiliar yet authoritative man’s voice asked.

“If you were expecting Jill St. John, she just left, disheveled and out of breath, but very happy,” I deadpanned.

“You’ll do,” he said. “This is your country calling.”

“My country? You need money? I’ll have to check my wallet, but I could probably spare you twenty.”

“Save your change, wiseguy, and your lip. It’s you we want.”

“Tell the First Lady I’d do her, but I just started Cipro and I’ve got to be a good boy for a few days.”

“Look up, Lenny Bruce, and you’ll see a chopper approaching from 270 degrees.” I did, and I did. “One more smart remark, and I give the order for a kill shot.” That got my attention. “Cat got your tongue, Don Rickles?”

“You sent a helicopter? For me?”

“Not me, pal. My boss. He wants to see you, asap.” The chopper was directly overhead now, and descending. I couldn’t hear what else the man on the phone said. A rope ladder unfurled from the open deck of the chopper and swung wildly across the terrace. Did he expect me to climb up?

“Do you expect me to climb up?” I screamed into the phone over the roar of the chopper.

“…know what’s…for you,” was all I could hear in reply. It was enough. My Brandywines and Cherokee Purples would have to battle aphids on their own for a while. I liked their chances better than mine.

[to be continued]