Craven Gets Flashed XIX

“As his wife slept, Kenny the dry cleaner tip-toed out the front door and descended the flight of stairs to the lobby.

“Mrs. Hudson!” said Kenny. ”I have found my Watson! Should Miss Adler awake and inquire as to my whereabouts you’re to tell her I’m off to shuffle the mortal coil of Professor Moriarity at the Village Tavern!”

“If you don’t get away from my door,” said the landlady, “I’ll have my husband shuffle your mortal nose all over your face. It’s almost midnight! And the name is Headley. You've been a tennant here ten years now, Kenny. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Your humor is an endless source of delight, Mrs. Hudson. When we return from our long and arduous journey to yonder Village, kippers and crackers would suit us well, as will a vintage Bordeaux from the cellar. Have them sent to my rooms at the break of dawn, my good woman. I must now bid you a brisk good evening, dear keeper of the tenement flats, for beyond the fringes of yonder front door stands that incomparable street urchin Jenny Wilkins; shivering in the shadow of the snow-encrusted elevated train tracks. We must make haste! All aboard!”

“I liked you better when you were just pressing pants!” said Mrs. Headley. 

Kenny stepped out the front door and waved his walking stick at a departing train.

“We will catch the next one you noisesome, rumbling beauty!” shouted Kenny, his long gray herringbone traveling cloak flapping in the cold night air. “And half a crown to the engineer who keeps a heavy hand on the throttle!”

Jenny Wilkins stood in the snow with her bag and camera slung over her shoulder, once again second guessing her choice of mentors.

At least Mr. Danger had one of his oars in the water and could talk baseball. But what do I know. Maybe crazy is what gets the job done. So, if Kenny the dry cleaner needs a Watson to hunt a Moriarity, I’m his man!

As Kenny approached, Jenny ogled an item he was carrying.

“Is that what I think it is?” said Jenny.

“If we’re to journey together, suitable attire is essential. Matching traveling cloaks and caps are a must! Allow me, young lady. There! A simple bow knot at the collar and, voila! Once more standing before me is my old compadre Dr. John H. Watson! My own Boswell! Quick! The iron horse approaches! We must not delay!”

“Not before I record your enthusiasm in glorious black and white,” said Jenny. “Hold still.”

FLASH!

“My eyes!” said Kenny. “Moriority has done it again! That wily scoundrel has somehow infiltrated your camera and set upon my eyes the fiery coals of hell!”

“It’s a flashbulb, Kenny. Relax. Now take my arm and stop being such a Craven.”

One of these days I’ll have to stop giving in to my quirky nature and jump in the secretarial pool with all the other girls. At least they get dates on Friday nights — even if it’s with each other. All I ever get is cold, wet feet. But, hey, they ain’t got what I got: a gray herringbone traveling cloak with matching cap! Ain’t I your grandma’s mustache! To the Tavern we go!

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