Craven Gets Flashed XVI

“Why don’t ya read to me the news story that Craven wrote,” said Sergeant Dowd.”

“Hold on,” said Jenny. “Let me soak in this heat for a minute. It’s like a sauna. And please, drive as slow as possible and don’t stop until I’ve melted onto the seat. If I make a puddle just soak me up with a sponge and wring me out in my nice warm bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Oh, knock it off and hand me the story. I’ll read it myself.”

“Okay, but read it out loud.”

“Lets see. . .

The blood on Bleecker Street was running redder than a river of raging tomato sauce! And Ramone Vasquez lost a lot of tomato sauce that day.

As Mr. Vasquez tells it, ‘It started with kiss from enchanting angel. She make Ramone’s heart melt like lava flow. And soon Ramone find himself up to loins in hot desire. Then, boom! Ramone find himself on floor with pain in head and heart that crumbles like day-old bread’.

The lady in question is Irene Adler (aka Viv the seamstress at Kenny’s Dry Cleaners). Miss Adler is an honorary member of the Baker Street Irregulars. Sherlock Holmes (aka Kenny the dry cleaner), is Miss Adler’s love interest and the man responsible for Ramone Vasquez’s downfall, having left-hooked him off his feet and onto the floor.  Once his man was down — according to an anonymous witness — Holmes reached into the depths of his tweed herringbone trousers and came out with a Webley revolver, firing several shots at Vasquez’s lifeless torso. He is said he let out with a murderous cackle.

As well, tragedy knocked on the door of a certain Madame Roza when she witnessed Irene Adler locking lips with her estranged husband Ramone Vasquez. Miss Adler went on to defeat Mrs. Vasquez with a knockout ten seconds into the first round. Colossal upper cut to glass jaw = shattered ego and shortened tongue. Madame Roza will recover, but is expected to have quite the lisp.

Both Holmes and Miss Adler were hustled into a Hansom cab and bid adieu by the Baker Street Irregulars. Who offered a ‘Hip, hip, hoorah!’ as a parting gesture.

A fog fell on Bleecker street and all went silent.

“You know you can’t hand this into any legitimate newspaper,” said Sergeant Dowd.

“I know,” said Jenny. “I don’t think there’s a journal yellow enough to print it. I’d be upset if it wasn’t for the fact that I might be falling for the guy.”

“Wow. You falling for Craven Danger?”

“Craven Danger? Are you nuts? I’m talking about Sherlock Holmes and those herringbone trousers. I’ll never look at Kenny the dry cleaner in the same way again.”

“I think maybe I have the heat on too high. Let me roll the windows down and cool you off a bit.”

“Don’t you dare. A girl can dream can’t she?”

***

“I don’t watch baseball,” said the bartender. “Anymore than I’d watch a field of cows going about the business of swatting flies and chewing cud. And you say this is America’s favorite pastime?”

“Is there any chance of you being relieved soon,” said Craven.

“Sure. As soon as that stool you’re sitting on is empty.”

“Wiseguy. Your job is to pretend to dry glasses while nodding at anything remotely coherent coming from my soused lips. All you ever have to say is, Can I get you another drink.”

“I don’t know how they do things uptown, mister, but here in the Village we angle things a bit different. You need to loosen up and stretch your brain a little. Let in some culture. Widen that focus of yours. Give your brain something to think about other than watching nine men running around a baseball field trying to prevent someone from going home. Sounds kind of mean to me. You should get over to Washington Square Park and rustle up a game of chess. You’ll find capturing a king a lot more satisfying than killing an umpire.”

“Then you’ve never been to a doubleheader at Yankee Stadium. Once during a seven inning stretch I saw a group of bleacher bums hogtie a first base umpire and try to roast him over an open fire in center field. But it was a windy day and the matches wouldn’t stay lit. So they decided to tape his eyes wide-open so he’d see better. Try doing that on a chessboard.”

“Sounds enchanting,” said the bartender. “I’d keep you company a little longer, but the entertainment is about to start.”

“Entertainment?”

“Yeah. We have a crowd in the backroom at the moment. A group of Baker Street Irregulars, a tattooed lady, and a redhead who can sing like it’s nobody’s business.

“A redhead?” said Craven.

“They came in a while ago to escape a disturbance at Ramone’s Pizza. The tattooed lady and the redhead walked in singing. The one with the tattoos was encouraging the redhead to sing louder, and boy oh by, what a set of pipes! It gave me the shivers. So I asked her if she wouldn’t mind giving us a song or two.”

“A redhead?” said Craven.

“You’re repeating yourself, mister.”

“Yeah. Redheads have the effect on me. Did she order martinis and give you such a smile that you wanted to marry her and turn into a martini yourself?”

“Wow. You really got a thing for redheads.”

“I sure do. I only hope I can make her take notice again.”

“I have to go,” said the bartender. “I’m also the emcee. Why don’t you come out from this dark corner and sit up closer to the stage.”

“I’ll be there,” said Craven.

Photo courtesy pf Wiki Commons:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?search=webley+revolver&title=S...'s_revolver.jpg