The Hundred and Ten Pound Novel - Chapter IV

Richard Dirkle had been granted parole and is on a train bound for New York City and Slater Publishing. At his parole hearing Mr. Dirkle assured the board that he was in the good hands of Max Slater and that his book, Dick Dirkle, Detective Extraodinaire!, was to be published and he had every reason to believe in its success. And he was sure that his new job as a bicycle messenger would be short lived, as he expected to be “rolling in dough any day now! No more bad check writing for the likes of me!” The parole board blandly sealed his fate and OK’d the budding dime-store novelist’s release. “You won’t regret it!” said Richard Dirkle to the board. “You’ll never see the likes of me in here again! I’m going places, see!” On the train ride down the Hudson River, Richard Dirkle felt another Dick Dirkle, Detective Extraordinaire! story coming on and he quickly drove his pen into action. Dick Dirkle, Harlot Buster I felt a twinge in my pants, as Jenny, the harlot I was arresting, reached down to unzip the fly of my razor-creased pleated trousers. “They’ll be none of that!” I exclaimed with genuine shock. “Now turn around and put your hands behind your back!” “Ooh,” cooed Jenny. “I like the sound of that. The last time I heard those words from a man it cost him two hundred bucks. For you , Dick Dirkle, I’ll do it for free. And I’ll throw in something a little extra, if you know what I mean.” “I don’t do bribes, you sidewalk floozy!” I further exclaimed while at the same time putting my foot down. “I’m made of sterner stuff than that!” “I’ll bet you are,” giggled Jenny. “Say!” I said, askance. “What are you trying to pull here!” “Ooh, just let me have at that zipper, Detective Dirkle, and I’ll show you.” “You’re a wicked scamp, Jenny!” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Take her away, boys! And I hope you learn your lesson this time, Jenny! You were a good girl once! And you can be again! Make your momma proud!” As the patrol car pulled away I felt a tenderness in my feet very close to severe pain as the muddy tread marks of the rear tire made themselves manifest on my highly polished brown penny loafers. But that’s me, always stepping into danger, never away from it. “Next stop Grand Central Terminal!” shouted the conductor with a theatrical flourish. “That’s my stop!” I exclaim with excitement. “Will you be quiet!” said the man sitting next to me, who had been engrossed in a large paperback. “We don’t get there for another ten minutes!” And wait I did. Max Slater here I come. I’m gonna take this town by storm and show it what I’m made of, or my name isn’t Richard Dirkle! “Hey!” said the man sitting next to me with exaggerated irritation. “You can put that pen down now and get off the train! We’re here! This is the last stop! You’re blocking my way! Move it, numb skull!” And move it I did! A knuckle sandwich right in his pie hole! Richard Dirkle’s gonna show the world what he’s made of! And it ain’t baloney! *** Max Slater sat in his Adirondack chair and read the morning paper. At ninety three years of age, Max was surprisingly spry and interested. Retirement had suited him. A life-long bachelor, he mostly traveled and wrote of his escapades in the newspaper and publishing business. He figured now was a good time to make his move and find a publisher worthy of the title. He had been getting nostalgic of late and wondered what the old Slater Publishing building was up to these days. Probably some over-priced coffee house now, he thought. It might be fun to take a train ride down and visit with the old place. Might get the juices flowing a bit. Maybe even find himself a new job. As he turned the pages of the paper his eyes caught site of an over-blown help wanted ad. WANTED: An educated assistant to help manage my affairs. Some editing experience would be helpful, but not necessary. Apply in person to Madame Tourdo @ Slater Publishing. 215 Thompson St. NY. NY. Now isn’t that interesting? Thought Max. I think I may have me a new job. Very interesting indeed.